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omg-imagine · 5 years ago

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⊱ Forget Me Not (2/15) ⊰

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 2.7k

Warning: Angst

A/N: Thank you all for the lovely feedback, I truly appreciate it! This series might turn out to be 15 chapters long unless I decide to tweak it. But anyways, I hope you enjoy this next part!

Part 1

There was a stillness in the air once you opened your eyes, a stream of daylight blinding you as it slipped past between parted curtains. Your head throbbed excruciatingly, but your body felt numb. When the bright light subsided, you glanced around the room but saw it as a blurry haze. Slowly, your vision settled, only then realizing where you were.

You were in the hospital.

You blinked once, then twice, trying to recall what had happened, but nothing was coming to mind. Deciding that your memory would return eventually, you took a moment to survey your surroundings. You couldn’t do much else, not when you have an IV needle hooked into your arm and were also attached to a monitor.

Fresh floral arrangements decorated your space, bringing some much-needed vibrancy inside the dull and gloomy room. In one corner, you caught sight of a sleeper chair with a white blanket folded neatly on top of a pillow. You wondered to yourself who would choose to stay the night, sleeping on that small uncomfortable recliner.

Other than those, there was nothing else remotely interesting about the room. As you laid in bed, you matched your breathing to the lulling sounds of the machine beeping at your side. You stared up at the cold white ceiling, counting each gray speckle that you could find on the panels above. You had reached fifty before you were startled by the door opening, a nurse then stepping inside the room.

“You’re awake,” the woman commented, quickly walking over to your bedside. She was around the same age as your mother, perhaps slightly older. Her graying hair was tied neatly into a bun with a few loose strands framing her face. Her kind eyes glanced over yours, and you felt calmness washing over you. “My name is Sam. I’ve been checking up on you for quite some time now.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but your throat was so dry that your voice came out as a rasp. The nurse took notice and immediately filled up a cup of water from a nearby dispenser then brought it over to you.

“Thank you,” you said once you finished drinking.

“You’re welcome, dear,” she responded, taking the empty cup from your hand and setting it to the side. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” you answered her after thinking the question over. Aside from that and the pounding headache, you were also confused. You still didn’t know why you were in the hospital.

“It’s the pain medication. The drowsiness is one of its nasty side effects, but it does the job,” she spoke, giving you a gentle smile.

“It’s a good thing I can’t feel anything else right now because my head alone is killing me.”

With a nod, Sam then went on to check your vitals. Judging by her relaxed attitude, everything seemed to be just fine. She jotted down a couple of notes on her clipboard before her attention returned to you. “I’ll let your doctor know that you’re awake, but it’s really a miracle that you’re up right now.”

“Why do you say that?” You asked her curiously. “How long have I been out?”

“Three weeks, dear,” she informed you, much to your surprise. “You got into a pretty bad car crash. Don’t you remember?”

You shook your head slowly, a puzzled expression appearing on your face. “No, I don’t.”

Sam sighed, clicking her pen closed. Her smile suddenly fell, and it worried you. “I’ll fetch Dr. Henderson so that he could do a full evaluation on you.”

“Okay,” you told her as she fluffed the pillows behind your head and smoothed out your blanket. “Are my parents here?”

“Yes, they are,” she nodded her head. “Your father’s waiting right outside while your mother and your partner are downstairs at the canteen. Don’t worry, I’ll let them know that you’re awake. They could all probably use some good news right now.”

Sam’s smile returned, reassuring you one last time before she headed to the door. That’s when you realized what she had just said.

“Wait, excuse me,” you called out, and Sam stopped in her tracks. “I-I don’t have a partner. Not anymore, at least.”

She furrowed her brows as you stared at her quizzically. Maybe, she might have mistaken a family friend for one, but you weren’t sure. You had just broken up with your boyfriend a month ago, but for a good reason. He was an asshole who had made your life a living hell, and it wasn’t until recently did you find the courage to end the relationship. Because of that, you were fairly certain there was no way he would be here along with your parents.

“Sure, you do, honey. I mean, that’s who he introduced himself as,” Sam replied. “He never stops talking about you, and it’s very obvious that he loves you. Ever since you got here, he’s never left your side. You definitely got yourself a keeper.”

“But I don’t… that’s impossible,” you mumbled. Again your mind tried searching through your memories, but doing so only triggered a searing headache, making you groan out in pain.

“Darling, you need to relax,” Sam warned you. “You may be awake, but you’re still healing.”

Once the migraine passed, your eyes welled up in tears. It was frustrating to not know what was going on. It felt as though chaos was swirling inside of your head, and you couldn’t understand why it was happening.

“Shh, honey, it’s okay,” the nurse murmured softly, calming you down. “Do you want me to turn on the tv? Maybe you should watch something while I get the doctor in here. It can help ease your mind up a little.”

“Alright,” you muttered, and Sam plugged in the television, handing you the remote.

She excused herself shortly after as you surfed through the channels available, trying to find a show or a movie to distract yourself for the time being.

Coming across a live weather report, the broadcast had left you baffled. The reporter talked about the temperatures in Los Angeles this week, which was unusual since you were living on the other side of the country. Not to mention, the date shown on the graphic on the bottom of the screen was wrong.

July 11, 2020, it had read.

But wasn’t it the winter of 2015?

---

Keanu had gotten used to the stale taste of cafeteria food though he didn’t have that much of an appetite to begin with. He would usually order the day’s special, eat one or two bites of it before pushing it off to the side. He must have lost ten pounds already from skipping meals these past three weeks.

“Keanu, sweetheart,” your mother Nancy began, noticing that once again, he wasn’t eating. “Y/N needs you to be strong for her when she wakes up.”

Letting out a sigh, his eyes then flickered up to the woman sitting across from him, a slight frown on her lips. She was right, of course, but he just couldn’t help it. Every time he visited the hospital and saw your unconscious body, it was like a piece of him wilted away each day.

Truth be told, Keanu was much worse in the beginning than he was now. He had spent the first several nights sleeping in your room, or at least, he attempted to. It was difficult staying asleep when every night, he was forced to relive the night of your accident. Unfortunately, it would always end up the same way with you losing your life, and Keanu not being there at your side.

The media had caught wind of what had happened and made it much more stressful not only for Keanu but for your family as well. There would always be paparazzi waiting by the entrance of the hospital, ready to bombard him or your parents with invasive questions and take pictures of them. Security had done the best they could to keep them off the premises, and Keanu felt horrible for subjecting your parents to one of the downsides of fame.

But both your mother and father had been understanding, and they didn’t want Keanu to worry more than he needed to. If it weren’t for them, he would have never left the hospital for any reason. They had convinced him to go home each night, reassuring him the best they could that you would be there the next morning.

Keanu listened and did just that. He was able to get some sleep in as the nightmares started to die down. He would ride his motorcycle for hours on end to clear his mind, and it had been meditating. Slowly, he was getting much better dealing with the aftermath. Still, it was only the uncertainty of the situation that continued to perturb him.

“I know,” he whispered, rubbing his eyes. “It’s been hard, you know. For all us, I mean.”

Nancy nodded, setting down her fork on the tray and looking at Keanu sorrowfully. “I know my daughter, and she’s a fighter. I’m sure that she’ll get better, and it’s only a matter of time. But the last thing she would want is for you to get sick because of her. She wouldn’t like it if you stopped taking care of yourself, Keanu.”

“Yeah,” he agreed after pondering for a minute. “She wouldn’t like that.”

“Good,” Nancy smiled as she pushed her tray next to Keanu’s at the edge of the table. “The food here isn’t the best. Let’s go out and buy lunch somewhere else instead, hmm? My treat, and you can’t turn down free lunch.”

“No, ma’am. I can’t,” Keanu chuckled as he stacked the trays before getting out of his seat.

The two of them had reached the exit when your father Peter came running down the hall. His chest heaved heavily as if he had sprinted all the way from the fifth floor to the first.

“Peter, what on earth was that all about?” Nancy asked her husband as Keanu held him steady. “You know, there are elevators in this building.”

“It’s our baby girl. She’s awake,” Peter panted, his eyes filled with so much joy that Keanu could feel it radiating from him. “Y/N’s finally awake.”

---

“Are you sure, Keanu?” Peter questioned him as he stood in the middle of the doorway. “You’re practically family, I can tell the doctor that.”

“It’s okay, go,” Keanu waved him off with a smile before sitting down in one of the plastic chairs right outside of the room.

Dr. Henderson had just finished evaluating you but had asked to speak with your parents first. It seemed a bit of an unusual request, though he didn’t want to overthink it. He was okay with giving Nancy and Peter time with you first. They were your parents, after all.

As he sat there out in the hall, Keanu cracked a smile for the first time in weeks. The last three weeks had been hell for him, and he was ready to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Very soon, he would finally be able to see your open eyes and hear your sweet voice. Keanu was already coming up with what he was going to say once it’s his turn for him to see you, and he wanted the first words for you to hear from him was that he was sorry.

It took a while until Dr. Henderson stepped out of the room, leaving you with your parents. Keanu got up from his seat, a thank you ready to roll off his tongue until he noticed the solemn look on the doctor’s face.

Just before he could ask if something was wrong, Peter appeared from behind him, his hand coming to rest on Keanu’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

“Son, we need to talk,” Peter spoke with a downcast gaze. “It’s about Y/N.”

Keanu eyed your father nervously as he gestured for the two of them to sit. “What is it? Is she okay?”

Peter released a deep breath before shaking his head. “She’s doing fine physically, but mentally, there’s something wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Retrograde amnesia,” Peter stated, glancing at the tile floors beneath his feet. “Dr. Henderson said that she needs to undergo tests to confirm it, but he thinks she’s likely suffering from it.”

“Amnesia?” Keanu’s voice faltered as the word fell from his lips. “What did she forget? The accident?”

“Yes,” he revealed, pausing for a brief second before continuing. “Y/N can’t recall the accident nor anything from the last five years. Not a single memory, Keanu.”

Five years? That meant… No, it couldn’t be.

“What’s the last thing she can remember?”

Peter looked at Keanu regretfully. “She remembers breaking up with her ex Eric and moving back with us. This was way back in—”

“February,” he finished, shutting his eyes as he felt his chest tightened. “That happened in February 2015.”

Keanu was at a loss for words. Here you were now, finally awake after spending weeks in a coma, only to have five years worth of your memories erased. He could only imagine how confused you must be not knowing what had happened. There had been a significant amount of changes in your life within that time frame—moving to LA, getting a new job, meeting Keanu.

The last part hurt him the most. You had forgotten him and all of the memories you had together. Right now, Keanu was nothing but a complete stranger to you, and thinking about it made his heart feel heavy. Of course, he wanted to be there to help, but at the same time, he didn’t want to overwhelm you. What if you didn’t want him around? What if you pushed him away?

Keanu glanced at Peter, the question slightly trembling out of his mouth. “Did the doctor say it was permanent?”

“He doesn’t know. There’s a chance that it could be temporary, and the memories would resurface later on. But, it could also end up being permanent.”

Leaning back against his seat, Keanu ran a hand over his face. The silence which followed gnawed at his insides as nausea churned in the pit of his empty stomach. “I’m a part of those memories she’s lost. She won’t remember the last five years we’ve spent together. Y/N won’t even recognize me if I walk in there.”

“Keanu?”

Nancy calling out his name caused him to glance up. She stood before him with red eyes, cheeks still stained with tears. “Do you want to see Y/N?”

The answer was obvious, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to voice it out loud. “I-I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Nonsense, dear. Perhaps all Y/N needs is to see you, and she’ll remember everything again,” Nancy suggested with fervent hope flashing across her face.

“Maybe,” Peter shrugged, sharing a glance between Keanu and his wife. “It’s up to you, son.”

Keanu didn’t want to be disappointed, but he needed to at least try. He was reminded of the promise he made on the night of the accident, that no matter what, he would never give up on you. Pushing aside his fears, he stood by the foot of your door and opened it before stepping over the threshold.

Instantly, his gaze met yours as you sat up from your bed. Seeing you awake made him feel so relieved, and he had to fight back the tears that were threatening to fall. All he wanted to do was cross the room and gather you into his arms, hoping his touch would bring back the memories you’ve forgotten. But Keanu decided against it, choosing to linger closely by the door instead.

“Y/N?” He spoke your name in a soft tone, waiting for any reaction to come.

A pause. From the hospital bed, you looked at Keanu with merely a blank stare, not even the slightest flicker of recognition showing in your unwavering eyes.

“I’m sorry, but... do I know you?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the room was silent enough for him to hear your words.

You should know him, but you don’t.

You don’t remember him at all.

Part 3

Tags: @penwieldingdreamer @fanficsrusz @toomanystoriessolittletime @awessomness @meetmeinthematinee

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves x you #reader insert #my fics #rpf

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missmonsters2 · 5 years ago

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The Color of You || Part VII

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: It was another mission Natasha was assigned to. Nothing she hasn’t done before. Same mission, different people. Sent undercover to investigate William Cain, suspect to funding terrorism and smuggling weaponry. Under the disguise of Natanya Rovinski, Natasha is ready for another routine mission. Until she met you, William’s fiancé.

Warnings: There are dark elements to this series. Also, smut later on. Please note this part includes abuse & torture (semi-graphic).

NOTE: This is a pretty dark chapter about reader. Lemme know if you want to be on my taglist for this series, any natasha stories I do, Wanda stories, or everything

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI

PART VII of X

Count: 3249

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10 years ago...

Your name was being shouted from a distance. You turned your head, seeing your mother calling you back into the house. Closing your sketchbook, you got up, dusting your pants before making your way back in.

“Really, you shouldn’t be outside too long,” your mother half-heartedly scolded you.

“Why not? We’re in the countryside. There are no neighbors for miles and miles away,” You rebuttal, a little upset that you had to come in.

Your mother merely raises her brow at you. “You’re getting a bit more of an attitude every day, missy. I didn’t say anything when you got your tattoos, but no sass-mouthing me.”

She says it so jokingly that you can’t help but smile along.

“It’s going to rain today,” you say, and your mother seems confused.

“Really? The weatherman said it’ll be sunny all day,” she muses.

“It will rain,” you confirm.

“Best get the laundry in then,” your mother rushes off.

You grin, watching your mother runoff. Your family was wealthy with your father running his own company, but even so, you lived in a beautiful house out in the countryside, away with people and no hired help. Well, you used to have a maid at least, but she had quit saying the countryside was not settling well with her body. Your family paid her a lot of hush money.

Your family adored you, and when they discovered your strange gift, it really worried them what could happen to you if anyone knew.

The worry that people would take you, want to experiment on you, or take advantage of you pushed your parents to make the decisions they did.

So, you and your family took care of your daily things while your father would go run his company, often coming home late at night.

It was a simple life.

Everything was good.

Or so you thought.

“I just...I don’t know what we’re going to do. I may have to claim bankruptcy. We’re hardly making the payments we need to do. The company just keeps getting worse, and I don’t understand why. I had to lay off 80 people today. I’ve closed down many factories in the last month.”

You stood quietly at the door, slightly ajar for you to peer in to see your father in a stressed state as your mother tried to comfort him.

“Should we move back into the city?” Your mother suggests, but your father shook his head.

“No, it’s worse for our daughter out there. You know that. There are too many people and sounds. It triggers the visions.”

Your mother purses her lips but agrees. They sigh stressfully together, your mother’s head on your father’s shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out, darling, we always do.”

It made you feel awful.

That night you stared at the ceiling in bed, praying an answer would come.

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You were in the field again, resting against the tree, sketching the view before you.

It was peaceful, but in the sense that it’s the calm before the storm. You were anxious.

Last night, you were getting horrible visions of a man in a fiery crash. He was stuck in the vehicle, screaming a name you couldn’t hear. The vehicle caught on fire, and there was so much blood.

The crash had disfigured his face, but his expression haunted you.

You weren’t sure what to do with it because you didn’t know who this man, where he was, or when it was happening.

Hell, you couldn’t make out his face without the blood and shards of glass.

A part of you wasn’t sure if maybe you were just having nightmares.

But the same vision kept coming over and over the next few nights. You were getting ragged, and your parents could tell.

They were happening more frequently, with more details each time, but it wasn’t like you had any more understanding.

You spent a day, just trying to mimic what the man was saying in the car before he died. Your mouth followed his movements, but you weren’t getting anywhere.

You felt like you were going to go crazy, watching the same man dying.

It kept going, and going, and going, and going, and going...

Until one day, it stopped.

A part of you was relieved, but there was a drop in your stomach wondering if it stopped because it happened, and it was no longer a future possibility.

The days were peaceful once more.

Well, as can be. You could tell your parents were getting more stressed as they were running out of money, getting closer, and closer to bankruptcy.

You were sure the peaceful days were coming to an end, and you felt so guilty you couldn’t do more.

“--rry, I’m just really lost. How do I get back to the main road?”

You turned your head, stretching to see a tall, handsome man with a couple dirt stains on his suit.

He looked shy.

Your mother merely laughed at his sheepish boyish grin.

“Well, let me draw you a map. Why don’t you come in and grab some tea? Must’ve been some adventure, huh?”

The man laughed and walked inside.

You quietly crawled through the tall flowers, peering inside the kitchen glass door to see the man sit down.

You tilted your head to the side, observing him.

He was obviously wealthy, catching his Rolex watch on his wrist.

You did find it a little weird for someone to get lost here. This was quite out of the way of anything.

He turned his head, and then your eyes met.

He looked shocked, mouth agape.

He actually flushed and looked away.

Since you were caught, you stood up, coming through the side door of the kitchen. Your mother looked shocked to see you. Even a little wary.

“This is my daughter,” Your mother told the man, introducing you.

The man stood abruptly up, coughing slightly as he stuck his hand out towards you.

“I’m William Cain.”

Your mother hummed. “Your dad doesn’t happen to own Cain Holdings, does he?”

William nodded, and your mother gave him a sympathetic smile.

“I heard about the accident. I’m really sorry to hear about him.”

William merely thanked her with a half-smile before looking back at you. You tilted your head down, looking a the map your mother drew and hummed.

Grabbing the pen, you re-drew the path he should take.

“Is it wrong?” Your mother asked.

“No, but...the roads are tricky over there. It is best he takes this route back to the main road.” You quietly say, passing the sheet of paper to him with a small smile. “It was nice to meet you.”

And then you left. Your mother is someone that doesn’t like you meeting strangers, so it’d be best to limit interactions.

She heard small noises from downstairs, but soon, William was on his way.

She thought that was the end of that.

Until he showed up again.

And then again, and again, and again.

The next couple of times, he came with small gifts like chocolate, cookies, or little trinkets, saying it was a thank you for helping him.

The next couple of times, he would come up with ridiculous lies to say he was visiting.

One day, he merely said he wanted to see you.

Then the reasons no longer mattered.

You couldn’t classify that you were in love with William, your heart just didn’t feel that way. But you weren’t unsatisfied to be with him. Especially knowing he could help your father.

Before you knew it, he wanted to whisk you away, back to his estate. He thinks you just have a frail body, which is why you’re in the countryside. He promises your parents of a quiet place for you, where you can still have fresh air, and lots of room to draw and paint.

He promises a partnership for your father’s company.

And with your reassurance, they hand you to him.

“Don’t tell William about your abilities, dear,” your mother tells you as she helps you pack your clothes. “I know he loves you, but you never know.”

You nod, feeling your throat burn as your about to leave your parents.

“We can visit at any time. Heck, we may even decide to move back to the city,” your mother tries to reassure you, but you’ll miss her anyways.

With hugs and kisses goodbye, a final piece of advice, you part ways with your family.

Never to see them again.

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William’s place is quiet.

Much more quiet than you had expected. There are no pictures on the wall, only paintings and trinkets. You meet his mother, who’s just thrilled to have ‘such a young, graceful lady around.’

She seems sweet but also distant. She looks out the window a lot like she’s expecting someone to come home at any time.

William is still finishing university, it was a wonder how he found so much time to visit you. On top of that, he was busying himself to take over his father’s business.

You’re still getting used to the city air. It’s not quite the same as the countryside, but you find that you don’t mind it at all.

William seems to be keeping you a secret because, as the years pass, you never meet anyone new. You’ve visited your parents rarely, and it seems to be getting more infrequent.

There’s an unsettling fear in your stomach, and you don’t understand why. It feels like you’re being tested. William asks your opinion on everything, trying to gauge your reaction.

You’ll purposely choose the wrong thing or say the wrong thing because your mother’s words can’t escape your head.

You’re now having reoccurring nightmares of the man dying in the car crash again. He’s screaming and screaming, but you can’t hear what he’s saying. Waking up in cold sweats and an empty bed, you’re scared out of your mind.

You want to leave.

So in the dead of night, while William is gone, you sneak into the hallways.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps and noises. Panic overtakes you as you scramble through a door you haven’t been through before. You shut the door, leaning against it as you listened to the footsteps and voices walk right past you.

Sighing in relief, you stood up straighter and turned around. It was dark, but the moonlight outside illuminated the room enough for you to see.

You realized that it wasn’t so much a room, but a hallway. Against the wall were portraits lined up side by side. Walking over, you looked at the photos one-by-one. Typically, this was a room you weren’t allowed to enter. William or a maid always led you away.

This must be generations of men in William’s family, you thought.

You come to the last photo. It must be William’s father. You haven’t really seen a big, clear picture of the man before. Even in news articles, they were always taken from afar.

You stood before the large portrait that seemed to loom down on you, staring at you with his clear features and eyes.

A sharp pain shot through your head as you hissed, hand coming to your eyes as the images rush through your head.

It’s the dying man again.

But you can hear everything this time, see more clearly.

“WILLIAM! WILLIAM!” He screams, desperately trying to unbuckle his seatbelt. The car is incredibly hot, a small fire coming from under the hood with smoke. Shards of glass are stuck in his face, and there’s just so much pain.

He can hear a car door shut just a few feet from him. He turns his head to see his son come up to the window.

“WILLIAM, GET ME OUT OF HERE!” He yells, pulling at his seatbelt again. A truck just came out of nowhere, and the fire was starting to grow.

William stood by the driver’s side, careful to not lean too close with the broken glass as he crouched down, his face stoic.

“You don’t understand our legacy, father. You’re going to ruin everything our family has created for generations.”

His father watched as William got up, walking away without even stumbling.

“WILLIAM! WILLIAM!”

He called and called, but his voice was soon drowned out by the sound of the vehicle exploding.

Your head felt heavy as you were gasping in pain. It was like your right eye was throbbing.

“You know, don’t you?”

You whipped around to see William, who just turned onto the hallway, casually leaning against the wall.

You stumble back a little bit, but then your back hit someone else’s. You turn your head to see Evelyn, the last maid you had.

“Evelyn...? What are you--”

“It’s fine, release her,” William cuts you off.

Evelyn lets go of your shoulders, and William walked to stand before you.

“You know what I did, don’t you?” William says to you again, his arms crossed over his chest.

“N-No, I don’t--” You stuttered.

“Don’t lie,” William tsked at you. “I heard from our little rich circle years ago about your parents who had a darling little girl...but something was off about her, she was always predicting things that happened.”

William uncrossed his arms, lifting his hand to caress a strand of your hair. “I paid Evelyn a lot of money to see if it was true. Then I swept you away...keeping you here to see myself.”

“So,” William drawled, “What else have you seen?”

“N-nothing,” you say, and it’s true, at least nothing related to William.

William merely smiles at you.

“I guess we’ll have to change that.”

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It was dark.

And cold.

You don’t know how many days you’ve been in this...hole.

Evelyn has taken you deep into the basement. You’re sure you’re well beneath the floor in this cell.

They dropped you in here with no way of getting out.

It felt like you were in a well.

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Your screams were echoing.

Arm out as your hands stretched to reach...reach something.

“I don’t like it when you run, don’t you understand that by now?” William’s voice sounded disappointed with you.

The blade he held carved into your skin, and you could feel a warm liquid dribble out and slide down your sides.

“P-Please stop...” you begged with tears in your eyes and throat raw from screaming.

“Don’t run from me anymore.”

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You were back in the dark.

Knees crouched to your chest, you had your head down.

Evelyn came by, and you were mad at her. Hated her with every fiber of your being.

You want your parents, your parents will know you're missing if they keep visiting and you’re never around.

Evelyn says your parents won’t visit anymore.

You won’t get to see them until you’re dead, she tells you.

You don’t know what to do anymore.

You’ve been in here for weeks. Your back has begun to scab over, but you refuse to give anything to William.

You stare straight ahead, even if you can’t see anything.

You start to wonder if you should give up and join your parents.

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“Still nothing?” William says to you as you’re forced to kneel before him.

He comes up to you and gets down on one knee. Your face is bruised, and he cups it gently like he cares about you.

“I don’t want to treat you like this, you know. I meant what I said to your parents when I said I’d take care of you. You need to let me take care of you.”

You clench your jaw at the mention of your parents, but you don’t say anything.

William moves in to try to brush his lips against yours, but you vehemently turn your head away.

For a second, you think he might hit you again, but he just sighs.

“Evelyn, take her back,” William says, but he turns to you again. “I want you to help me, but if you can’t, I don’t have any problems achieving what I need to without you too. Don’t become useless to me.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Your back rests against the slightly curved wall. Your hair feels matted, and you just feel grimy in general.

William's words keep replaying in your head, but you can’t help but feel hopeless.

You’ve stopped eating the meals Evelyn brings you.

It doesn’t matter anymore, you think.

You stare into the nothingness so long you think you’re eyes have adjusted.

People think that the dark is just black, but it’s not. There are no words to describe the lack of colors around you.

A sharp pain hits your head again as you hiss, bringing your hand to your eye.

The sudden colors are so vivid and bright, it almost hurts you.

You see flashes of red hair, luscious lips, a black suit, and a pair of piercing emerald eyes.

You just see quick flashes of different scenes, but you know one thing for sure.

She’s going to take down William.

“Natasha,” you whisper to yourself as if to test the name on your lips.

It makes you feel warm.

And you get a feeling that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“Then I got myself together...forced myself to give into William and paved his way exactly the way it had to be to bring you here.”

You feel something wet hit your bare back.

Turning your head as far as you can to see tears falling from Natasha’s eyes and it trickles down her face, hitting your back a couple more times.

You wonder if it’s awful to think she looks beautiful when she’s crying too. You turn your body over, Natasha adjusting herself so you can do so.

With your bare chest exposed to her, you lift your hand and cradle her cheek, smiling a little when she presses herself more into your palm.

“Why are you crying?” You ask her softly, using your thumb to wipe a tear that was falling.

“I’ll kill him,” Natasha says, turning her lips into your palm as she kisses the area tenderly.

You chuckle softly because you’re not sure if she really will or not, but it warms your heart nonetheless.

“Do you want to know something interesting?” You ask, your other hand pulling on her shirt, so Natasha will lean down closer to your lips.

Natasha hums.

“When I saw you...I held onto you. Through every dark night, painful crying, and feeling so wretched...I remembered you.” You whispered as Natasha’s lips got closer. Your thumb stroked the softness of her cheek as Natasha gripped onto your sides tightly, screwing her eyes shut as you told her what she meant to you.

“You’re such a beautiful color, Natasha. You’re the soft blue that comforted me, the yellow that brought me happiness, a pure white that gave me light the darkness, and the green that brought me hope. Do you understand me?”

You’re so desperate for her to understand.

Because without her, you would’ve never made it out alive, and you need her to know that.

Your lips brush against Natasha’s as her body lines up with yours. You shiver, feeling her cover your chest.

“You saved me.”

Natasha won’t let you say anymore as her lips crashes onto yours, but you feel her emotions dripping into you as she kisses you deeply. Her grip loosens as she pushes her arms under your back to hold you closer.

“You’re mine,” is all Natasha can say.

PART VIII

#mm: my fics #series: the color of you #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x ofc #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanov imagine #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #avengers x reader #Avengers #avengers imagine #Avengers AU #avengers reader insert #marvel x reader #Marvel Imagine #marvel mcu #Modern Avengers AU

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kenzieam · 4 years ago

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Save My Life - Chapter One

@jewels2876 @moonbeambucky @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @iammarylastar@captstefanbrandt @badassbaker @pinknerdpanda

I know I’m forgetting people, sorry. If you want in, hit me.

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Warnings: Definitely M. Language, violence, adult situations, graphic mentions of horrible things, traumatic death and descriptions.

************************************************************************

!!!!!TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!!

************************************************************************

Paramedic Bucky Barnes has seen it all and it’s definitely taken a toll on his mind and body, witnessing senseless death, all but wading through it at times as he is the first responder to so many ghastly accidents and mishaps. The widow of one of his former patients haunts him long after his brief, chaotic contact with her and destiny conspires to cross their paths again. Can the broken man and grieving woman find peace together?

Feedback is life, y’all.

***********************************************************************

EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER

With a growl and a groan, Bucky rolled over onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. His body throbbed in a way that, while unwelcome, was far from unpleasant and he reached down, palmed his aching cock through the plain black boxer briefs he usually slept in.

It was so much easier to stumble to the shower if he only had to tangle with briefs, not try to pull a t-shirt off his muscular frame, it wasted precious seconds that could be better spent gasping for breath under the spray, hands pressed to the wall and bowed forwards, water washing away the nightmares that had torn him from uneasy sleep to begin with.

The dichotomy wore at him, even as he relived the horrors of her husband’s messy final moments of life, his body yearned for her, his cock hardening while his mind played the reel over and over, the sightless eyes, the crunching of the man’s ribcage beneath his hands.

There was no use fighting it, he’d tried so many times, only to lose every battle.

His pleasure crested, peaked and he groaned in release, his cock pulsing thick ropes of his seed onto his heaving stomach but the physical gratification didn’t touch the emotional turmoil and he dropped his hand with another groan, squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth until the sensations faded, both the ecstasy and the guilt.

Finally, he moved, hauling himself off the bed, off the tangled, soaked sheets and grimaced; the evidence of his twisted mind drying on his belly. Stumbling over last night’s jeans he shuffled into the bathroom and turned the water to scalding, scowling at his face in the mirror, scrubbing a hand over his stubble.

Would he finally get his shit together today? What compelled him, day after day, to continue like this? Sure, not every call ended the way that one had, but the good ones had long stopped overpowering the bad, their shadows too dark to chase away.

His phone jangled, clashing with his already raw nerves. Would such a simple sound ever stop eliciting such a heart-stopping response in him? He reached for the receiver, his seed still painting his belly, pulling at the downy hair there as it dried and silently held it to his ear. The voice on the other end knew he was there.

“Hey.” Steve said quietly.

“Hey.”

“Is today the day?” The day you stop this, quit the job that’s slowly killing you and start putting yourself back together again?

Bucky exhaled, a harsh yet anemic sound. “No, not today.”

Steve, his partner of eleven years, the man who usually drove the ambulance while Bucky worked so hard in the back, sighed quietly. Closer than brothers, he could read Bucky like an open book, but it went both ways and Bucky could hear the small smile on his face too. Although it was slowly killing both of them, there was nobody they’d rather die beside.

“See you at the station?”

“Yeah, an hour.”

“Coffee.”

“Your turn.” Bucky grunted, slamming the receiver down. Their shorthand baffled most, pissed off others, but you couldn’t be stripped bare emotionally in front of someone for over a decade and not connect like that.

One last lingering glance in the mirror, a brief grimace at the haunted cast in his blue eyes, then he continued into the shower, letting the water wash away both the sweat and the tears.

**********************************************************************

“Still having nightmares?” Steve asked, glancing Bucky’s way before returning his attention to the road. On their way to a frequent flyer found semi-conscious and, no doubt, more than semi-intoxicated, sprawled on the ground outside a local McDonald’s, there was a mild sense of urgency but an even larger sense of ‘same-old, same-old’ weary acceptance.

“Never stop.” Bucky replied shortly, barely looking up from poking listlessly at the computer screen mounted on the dash.

“About her?”

Bucky exhaled, eyes falling closed until the pain, while by no means gone, diminished enough to allow him to draw the next breath. “Yeah.”

“Man, that was over a year ago and you haven’t seen her since. What gives?” Steve demanded, slapping the steering wheel with the palm of his hand before cursing under his breath and hitting the sirens again to persuade a stubborn car out of their lane.

Bucky mused that he’d probably hear those god-damned sirens in hell.

“I don’t know-”

“Her husband died-”

“I know!”

“And I’m sure the last person she wants to see is the guy who was covered in his blood literally crushing the man’s ribs!”

“I know!” Bucky bellowed, slamming his fist on the dash then pulling it back with a grunt to cradle against his muscular chest. He’d need the full use of his hands, both massive paws that somehow could be so gentle and precise while intubating or placing an IV line, to deal with the patient they were now pulling up on.

“You using again?” Steve asked, voice low, bordering on a mix of angry and disappointed.

Bucky turned away, opening the door and jumping out before the bus had come to a full stop.

************************************************************

Lev glanced around briefly before dropping her eyes again. She felt supremely uncomfortable here, despite the fact that she was one of the more in-control attendees; she wasn’t weeping ceaselessly into a handkerchief, or burying her face in her hands while her shoulders shook, or muffling her wails on the shoulder of the person beside her. She was keeping it together.

Wasn’t she?

Eighteen months since Clint’s violent and unexpected death and this was her first meeting for grieving survivors, held in an aging school gymnasium that smelled like old socks and even older sweat, the wood floor marked and scarred with years of abuse.

Her friend Wanda had finally put her foot down, after a year and a half of back and forth, of, ‘I’m fine, just tired’ excuses and tearful limbo and all but dragged Lev to her doctor, where the kindly soul who may or may not be hiding pain just as visceral as hers and therefore knew what he was talking about had suggested this place, as an alternative to the pharmaceutical option that had been the first choice, and rejected so vehemently by Lev to warrant it’s proposal.

She glanced around. The middle-aged woman who’d lost her husband when he’d choked to death right in front of her during their weekly Sunday brunch, three chairs over in the large circle; the man who’d suffered through agonizing minutes of his wife pleading for help over her phone, then her final screams of terror as her car’s throttle had malfunctioned on the freeway and she’d careened at top speed into an embankment, instantly dying but taking with her his unborn son as well, five chairs over; then…. Him.

Lev startled slightly, dropping her gaze before it could be returned. Her memories of that time were so scattered and chaotic, stained with Clint’s blood and the sound of that goddamn siren, but she remembered him, or more accurately, the pain in his supernatural blue eyes.

Built like a marine, massive and muscled, shoulder-length hair pulled back into a loose bun, clad not in his uniform but a simple red long-sleeved Henley and jeans, hulking and intimidating until you looked closer and saw the anguish, was the paramedic that had tried so hard to save her husband’s life that lifetime ago.

Her heart sped up and she focussed obsessively on her cuticles. She wished suddenly for Wanda, but she’d insisted on attending tonight by herself and consequently was now alone as a tsunami of memories crashed over her. The incongruity of smells: bitter antiseptic, raw panic and body expulsions, warm male musk and blood; the duelling opposites that had all but torn her in half: frightening, in-your-face reality as Clint’s blood dried on her face coupled with the dream-like quality of the whole drawn-out nightmare.

How did that man cope? Dealing with that life and ugly death daily? Was that why he was here now, slumped in his chair and listening to other lambs to the slaughter open their veins in wretched attempts to assuage the pain?

She was called gently upon to speak, to give her name and reason why she was here; what screaming banshee howled unending torment in her ears, but she shook her head, burrowing further in on herself and muttering a vow to make herself talk next time, no matter how uncomfortable.

An eternity and an eye-blink later, the meeting ended, and Lev stood stiffly, her body raw and pulsating with fresh grief. For lack of anything else to do, she wandered to the refreshment table, knowing she was far too shaky yet to attempt to drive herself home and picked up a pre-poured paper cup of juice and pack of generic cookies. She’d just sat at an empty table and touched the cup to her lips when a quiet, tentative voice washed over her.

“Hi.”

She glanced at him, quickly back down again. “Hi.” Her voice was stronger than she felt, and she was grateful for the support of the table and chair.

“May I sit?” There was a puzzling hesitancy in his voice, as if he expected screaming rejection, but Lev was too tired to push someone else away, it was too wearying keeping her own mind and body quiet.

At her nod, he sat, picking at his own pack of cookies, seeming to be warring with himself about something.

“I remember who you are, you know.” Lev added, watched his shoulder slump with mingled relief and trepidation.

“I didn’t know… if you…. did or not-” He mumbled, trailing off uncomfortably.

“Hard to forget that day.” Lev whispered. She hesitated before adding. “I never got a chance but… thank you… for trying.”

He nodded, jaw tight, not lifting his eyes from the table.

“How do….” She didn’t want to ask, but God, she did too. “How do you manage to do that… as a job I mean?”

He smirke humorlessly, gesturing with one massive hand to the assembly around them.

“Does it help?”

He shrugged. “More than the company counselling. A friend of mine suggested it a couple years ago; I try to come when I can but….” He cleared his throat. “What about you?”

Lev dropped her eyes again, puzzlingly embarrassed. “My first time. My friend… she made me see a doctor-”

He held up a large hand. Say no more.

“How are you sleeping?” He asked quietly, lifting his hypnotizing gaze to hers again, which she quickly averted, in parts shocked and soothed by the tractor-pull that seemed to emanate from his supernatural blue eyes.

The question stung somehow, and it was so much easier to bite at that then lay bare the devastation beneath. “How do you?” Even as the question left her lips she recoiled, horrified with herself and pressed her hand to her mouth.

He flinched, barely perceptively, but the dark rings under his eyes answered her.

“God, I’m sorry-”

He shook his head, held up a massive hand again. “It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not!” What was wrong with her, biting the first hand that extended any type of friendliness? “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“This place… feeling this way… it makes you raw.” He replied, glancing up at her before looking away and gesturing with a chin jerk to a nearby table. “Sweetest old lady you’ll ever meet over there, but once she comes here and starts remembering her husband’s death again, turns into an old hag.” He twisted the paper cup in his hands, completely engulfing it before taking a sip. “Later, she’ll sit there with a stunned look on her face, like she’s waking up from a black-out.”

“I don’t want to be an old hag.”

A faint smile touched his full lips, temporarily lighting up his unbelievably handsome face. “You’d never be.” A faint pink flush and he looked away again.

Lev suddenly couldn’t breathe. The room, the man across from her, were taking all the air and she stumbled to her feet. “I have to go.”

He watched her, face falling and tried to stand but Lev lifted her hand, an emotional traffic cop, and shook her head. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, and both knew it, but he only watched sadly as she hurried out the gymnasium doors to the darkness outside, head bowed.

**************************************************

“You never answered me.” Steve spoke suddenly, breaking the silence in the bus as they took a rare break between calls, sitting in the parking lot of a local coffee-shop, trying to wolf down their breakfast sandwiches before the radio blared and re-established reality.

Bucky grunted, knowing what his partner was referring to but hoping that he’d drop it if he played silly buggers.

“James.” Shit, he was serious, using Bucky’s given name.

Bucky sighed, staring out the windshield. “It’s under control.”

“Is it?” Steve all but shouted. “Shooting H? Seriously, man. How do you have that ‘under control’?! What the fuck, James!”

“I don’t do it all the time-”

“Once is too many!”

“Fuck you. You got someone to come home to-”

“DO NOT put that on me, asshole. You’ve had plenty of women hoping for your last name, what the hell are you always waiting for?”

“I’m-”

“Stop thinking about that girl, it’s never going to happen!”

A bitter retort stung Bucky’s tongue and he knew if he spit it out it would poison their enduring friendship, weaken it just when he needed it the most but he was saved from sabotaging himself by the damned radio itself, the dispatcher’s efficient voice relaying maximum information with minimal syllables.

Glaring daggers at Bucky, obviously having a damn good idea what he had been about to say, Steve snorted angrily and grabbed the microphone, snapping an affirmative before slamming the vehicle in gear and hitting the sirens.

************************************************************************

Levi was not at the next meeting and Bucky felt a curious mix of relief and disappointment. Steve was right, this was never going to happen and, even if it did, he had no right dragging this girl down into his shit, not when she was still trying to dig herself out of her own. But still, he was disappointed; she was the rare light in his darkness, had been since the moment he’d first seen her, even with all the chaos and horror around her, cradling her dying husband’s head in her lap, pleading with someone, anyone to help. When their eyes had locked, a visceral, physical jolt had shot through him, almost painful in its intensity and he’d become personally invested in doing all he could to help, if not the patient he’d been dispatched for, then her.

Anything for her.

He was a sad fuck.

He’d barely heard the meeting going on around him, the others whispering their shame and pain, the answering murmurs from fellow sufferers. He rarely spoke at these, was rarely called on anyway because the overseer, a thin, bantam rooster of a man named Tony, who still lost all confidence and swagger when remembering his dear wife, Pepper, who’d passed suddenly from an aneurysm a few years previous, knew who Bucky was and why he was here.

He had no personal stories of loss to tell, but shared the pain of every single death he witnessed, every patient he tried to save and usually ended up only managing to usher into the afterlife with some semblance of comfort anyway.

He left the meeting that night alone, curled up on the floor at the end of his bed and found a vein.

#au bucky barnes #au bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes romance #bucky barnes drama #bucky and lev #bucky and levi #bucky x lev #bucky x levi

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narrysgolden · 4 years ago

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I can’t for the life of me find if I posted chapter 1 on this blog but it’s on my second blog so excuse. Here finally after like more than a year I have chapter 2 of the amnesia fic! Apologies that it’s short (I wrote most of it a year ago) and I know nothing about the medical field. P.s. I’m not a writer so sorry if my grammar sucks 😂

Over Again - Chapter 2

Chapter 1

HARRY

Beep………..beep…………beep………

As a fluttered my eyes open to a distant beeping, I gasped in instant panic only to realize I had tubes assisting my breathing and wires tangled up all across me. My heart rate rose dramatically and I failed at trying to sit up and look around. Everything hurt. Everything was in a daze. My hearing was muffled and vision was blurry, although I could make out two familiar figures to my left.

“Mr Styles”, the voice rang through my head. “You were in a car accident. You’ve been in the ICU at St Thomas’ since last night.”

It all felt like a dream, or really a nightmare. The harsh fluorescent lighting, the overlaying sounds of machines and faint chaos in the background. The unfamiliar man who just spoke words of disbelief. The women on the right who I could finally make out were my Mum and Gemma. I attempted to call out for them, but nothing came out. I couldn’t speak. Was I really dying? Is this my crossover into the unknown? The light just seemed to get brighter and my disorientation was strong.

Suddenly, I seemed to snap out of it, and all I could think about was one thing.

“Where’s Niall?” I finally managed to croak out of my desert dry throat.

The look on everyone’s face was a mix of relief, confusion, and worry as they all turned to look towards the corner of the room. A vaguely familiar boy stepped out from the shadows timidly. I couldn’t put my finger on it but something was just different about him. His face? His hair? His arms? Chest?

“Baby…” I spoke softly with a slight question in tone.

All of a sudden Niall’s face dropped. He turned white as a ghost, stopped in his tracks, and bolted for the door. Okay this was definitely a dream. Why was Niall acting so weird? Why did he look so off? I looked around best I could, studied this foreign body that was seemingly mine, all stitched, strapped, and wired up. My left leg was in a cast, slung up so it hung above the bed a little. My chest was wrapped up tightly, feeling like it was contributing to my loss of breath. And I could feel gauze shifting along my forehead as I moved my eyes around the room.

The room started spinning as my heartrate picked up again, feeling uneasy and only wanting Niall to come hold my hand and tell me everything will be okay.

“I feel sick” I mumbled, closing my eyes and leaning back into the stiff hospital pillow.

“Go check on Niall, I’ll watch over him.” I heard my Mum say to Gemma.

NIALL

I sped down the hospital corridor until I reached a dead end emergency exit, threw myself against the wall, and sunk to the floor. Curling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around tightly, I took in one deep breath after another in an attempt to stop hyperventilating.

It was all too much. Just seeing Harry for the first time in years was enough, the fact that he could’ve been on his deathbed was another thing, but for him to say those words, as if nothing had ever happened between them, was on another level of cruel. I was finally moved on with my life, happy for once, so I thought.

I lifted my head just enough to noticed Gemma coming down the hall in a rush to see if I was alright. “Oh Niall, come here”, she said, kneeling down to put her arms around me comfortingly. “Are you alright? You gave us all a right scare in there.”

“Did you not hear him Gem? What does he think he’s doing? Asking for me immediately, calling me…..that….. He’s insane!”

“Niall, honey, he was just in a major accident, head trauma and all that. It’s not too far off for him to be missing you in a situation like this.” She spoke softly, trying to reassure me it meant nothing, but we both knew that wasn’t the case.

“Do you think….” My voice trailed off as the worst possible scenario….was it really the worst? Potentially, yeah, the worst possible scenario flooded through my mind. Was Harry experiencing some sort of amnesia and thinking that we were still together? There’s no way…

I could see Gemma was reading my face and beginning to pick up on my theory. “The doctor did say temporary amnesia was common is head trauma patients.”

After another 15 minutes of sitting in the cold dim hallway in contemplation, Anne poked her head out the doorframe and motioned for us to make our way back to the room. Gemma turned to look at me with an unspoken “are you gonna be okay?”. I nodded softly and pushed myself up off the floor as if I was using the last bit of energy I had saved up. We made our way back to the room to find Harry was drifting off to sleep.

The doctor pulled all three of us aside and brought his voice down low to make sure Harry couldn’t hear. Anne and the doctor lookd back and forth at each other as if they were reading each others minds before looking back to me and Gemma.

“So, Harry believes that it is 2015. Signaling to use that he is experiencing amnesia with this head trauma of his. Now, because this is a full 3 year gap in memory, we don’t take this lightly. With amnesia patients we have to take things slowly in order to not overwhelm them and confuse them more. We don’t want any more stress on the boy than he already has. For the time being, go along with what he thinks, what he has to say, to an extent of course. We must bring him around slowly when he is in a stable place of healing.”

Yep I was right. 2015. Harry thinks we are still together. Harry thinks that One Direction is still together…. Oh God, his hair. MY hair. Does he even know he lives part time in LA now? And all his new tattoos. I don’t even know what he’s got inked all over his body anymore.

Not even seconds after the doctor finished speaking, a tall blonde woman ran into the room yelling “Where is he? Is he okay?”

Camille. Shit.

Anne grabbed her immediately and spun her around back out of the room, hopefully explaining in detail about Harry’s condition and how he probably doesn’t know who she is. Yikes. Thank god Harry was asleep when she barged in.

As Anne was taking care of the girlfriend situation, I turned back to Harry. He seemed so small in that hospital bed. Almost unrecognizable with the mounds of gauze, tangles of wires, and rough red patches all over his bruised skin. I got tunnel vision again, only being able to lock my eyes on him, sleeping not so soundly in the sterile room.

I walked over to him quietly, trying not to disturb him too much. Sitting down in the chair next to the bed, I studied his features, ones that seemed to be unfamiliar to me. His curly brown locks, now short and matted down underneath his bandage, still looked soft and as beautiful as I remembered. He was now growing facial hair, something I hadn’t pictured Harry with before, although it suited the chiseled features of his face better than expected. I noticed some scribbled ink on his unbandaged knee, but was unable to make out the word.

Harry started to make mumbled sounds in his sleep, his arm twitching and body moving as if he were stuck in a nightmare. Without thinking, my instincts reached my hand out to touch his, noticing black chipped polish adorning his delicate fingernails. I rubbed circles on the back of his hand with my thumb in an attempt to soothe his terrified mind.

“Harry” I spoke softly. He was still tossing and turning, strain seen on his face, getting antsier by the second. I needed to get him out of his own head. My heart raced with every moment that went by, more concerned than I was before. I grabbed his shoulder carefully, speaking to him more directly now. “Harry. Harry, look at me.”

His eyes darted open with a gasp, tears stinging his under eyes as he looked at me with so much pain on his face.

“It’s okay, I’m here.”

HARRY

I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew I was crying. And to open my eyes and see Niall inches in front of me, calloused hand on my shoulder, telling me it’s going to be alright, had me crying that much more. All I wanted was to give him the biggest hug of my life, but I couldn’t move, not enough.

He could tell that I was freaking out and continued to console me until my breathing regulated, my eyes dried up, and a smile actually crept on my face.

It was almost 4pm now. My Mum had disappeared at one point, Gemma saying she had to run home for a bit. Gemma did the same about an hour ago, so it was just Niall and I now. Niall sat to my left, scrolling through his phone, looking frustrated at messages he was receiving, hoping they would stop.

“Everything alright babe?” I asked. His face scrunched up as if in pain and he took a deep breath before looking up to me. “Yeah, fine.”

I laid my head back on the bed, thoughts spinning through my head, still trying to wrap my head around this accident I had no memory of. I looked down to where the IV was placed delicately in the crook of my arm, surrounded by familiar ink. The heart on my bicep, the holy bible on my forearm, the dainty A, and....what does that say....latelate? Why don’t I remember that being there? When did I get that?

I tried to reach over with my right hand to graze across the unfamiliar ink, but couldn’t reach from being practically tied to the bed with so many wires.

Niall noticed my struggle. “What’s up?” He looked to me quizzically.

“.....Late Late?” I whispered out. I could tell he could see the confusion on my face. And with my response, equal confusion appeared on Niall’s.

It took him a second to form his thoughts before busting out a laugh that seemed a little off. “You don’t remember that bet you lost with James? Serves you right you were piss drunk.”

That still didn’t really make sense to me. Even being blackout drunk, surely I would’ve remembered someone telling me the story the next day. But I didn’t have the brain power to question it any further. “Oh, ha, yeah right” I half heartedly chuckled before closing my eyes and sighing.

With every ounce of me wanting nothing more than for this all to be over and get back to my life, my life is all I could think about. Oh god the band. Do they know about my accident? I should call them, no, I’m sure Niall did. FUCK we have so much promo to do. We JUST released drag me down. Who knows when the hell I’m even getting out of this hospital room. And tour....shit. I know we talked about not having a tour this time but....now that’s really not happening. The absolute stress this is going to put on everyone....

I must’ve looked distressed as I feel Niall’s warm hand reach over to my shoulder, rubbing in soothing circles. “Hey” he spoke softly, “we’ll figure it all out”. Niall could always read my mind. No matter what it was, we were on the same wavelength. I cracked open my eyes again to see the blon...brunette? boy staring up at me, another thing my damaged brain couldn’t wrap my head around.

I reached my still constrained arm up to grab the dark locks. Niall instinctively leaned in to close the distance. My cool, stiff fingers fell into the chocolate locks that felt soft and clean, not dry and broken like it used to. “Your hair...” I whispered.

Niall pulled my hand down, kissed it softly and shook his head with chuckle. “Go back to sleep, Harry.”

#narry #Niall Horan #Harry styles #narry fic #over again #amnesia fic

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sherrybaby14 · 6 years ago

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The Option IV

This is a Dark!Bucky x Naïve!Reader story. It contains questionable consent.

Warnings: This is a Dark/rape/noncon story. Please do not read if that offends you.

Chapter warnings: SMUT! (I’m not going to lie, I don’t know how I would classify this...it’s not really dubcon, but maybe could be interpreted that way. To me it's sorta fluffy.) Loss of virginity.

Words: 3500

Summary: You deal with the aftermath of your decision to flee into a snowstorm.

You lifted your feet as fast as you could, the too large boots and the deep snow stopping you from sprinting. Your speed didn’t matter, you could’ve been traveling by jet and the thing chasing you would still catch up, beating at the barrier you had built in your mind.

“No, no, no, no.” You tried to think of anything, but the door started to splinter, the heavy thoughts pounding away. “Please stop!”

It wasn’t an accident. That was the first one that steeped in.

“Mistake.” You couldn’t hear your own voice over the howl of the wind.

Why did you trust Alice? She was some stranger, but you told her how alone you were in the first minute of meeting her. And then you took that drink?

You collapsed in the snow on to your knees, the cold liquid seeping right into your pants. The dam broke down at the same time you did.

The look of pity on that woman’s face, the way she didn’t understand you, how nobody paid you any attention at the market. They knew. They knew what you had been so in denial about. It was a setup.

If the train stop was not nearby how would anyone find you? Alice probably got off the train with all your possessions. Nobody would notice you were even missing. Except for your Uncle. There was still some hope there.

But he barely knew you. Would he assume you ran off to enjoy Europe on your own? Would anyone believe him that you were abducted? If this country was really as lawless as Bucky said there was no chance of him finding you here.

Bucky.

“Oh no.” The one person who was kind to you, who took care of you, who helped you. And you had been so selfish you sprinted away from him while he was in the throes of a nightmare. He didn’t deserve this and you didn’t deserve him. “I’m coming back.”

You put your hands on the wet snow and pushed yourself back up, spinning around in the darkness. You could follow your footprints back to the house and wake him, end his suffering, help him how he helped you.

Your eyes glanced down and snow smacked into them. Blinking several times you looked up in the darkness. The storm howled and the snow felt like it was coming from every direction. You took a step forward and the icy whiteness filled your too big boot, almost burning against your skin.

How could you be this stupid? You couldn’t focus on that right now. It was not the time to despair. The house couldn’t be that far.

You walked forward, but the wind blew faster. There was no chance of seeing your old path. You were going into this blind. The snow blasted your face, there was no escaping it even if you kept your eyes down.

You tried to pull up the coat and cover your face, but it gave little protection. Your hands were fists inside the coat too, since you had no gloves. Everything in front of you was a mix of black and white. The night and the weather working together against you.

Each step you took filled your boot with snow. Running out of the house like this may have been dumber than taking that drink on the train. Visions of freezing to death made your blood run cold and you tried to double your steps, no way of knowing if you were going closer or further to the house.

The speed was a mistake and pure snow hit your foot.

“EEEEEE!” You shrieked into the wind as the cold hit your tender skin.

You had stepped out of the boot. Trying to keep your leg in the air you spun to dig it out of the snow, but you twisted your other ankle in the process and toppled over.

“AHHH!” You screamed before your cheek smashed against the white powder.

There was no holding back the sobs as you tried to sit up. You were lost. Literally and figuratively. The warm tears vanished as soon as they fell, replaced by cold flakes. You would not survive this.

That didn’t mean you were ready to lay down and die. There was still some hope, and you would fight until the end. You dipped your bare hands into the snow further and tried to feel around for the missing boot.

Your fingers found it and you yanked it out of the snow. With cupped hands you tried to scoop the ice away, wondering if the boot was so wet it would be worse than walking. Deciding anything was better than bare feet you spun back around, bracing yourself for how awful slipping on the shoe would feel.

Before you got the chance you were hoisted in the air. Your breath caught in your throat as Bucky tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

Another sob racked through you as your head hung down his back, shielded enough to feel the warmth of the tear on your skin.

The snow seemed to pose no threat to the man as he took large steps with direction. There was no chance he was lost. He was your savior…again. Three times now.

“Thank you,” you whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear you over the wind. “Thank you.”

You were alive only because of this man and you swore to yourself that he would understand how grateful you were. You were willing to do anything to prove it.

~~~

The blizzard was so strong you didn’t see the house come into view. It didn’t cross your mind you were back until Bucky yanked open the door and the snow stopped smacking into you.

The lack of white and wind left you with nothing to focus on but your chattering teeth as the cold soaked into your bones. Bucky didn’t set you down, instead, he continued his long strides until you were in the living room.

“I’m….”. You didn’t get the word ‘sorry’ out before he set you on your feet.

“Take. Off. Your. Clothes.” In the darkness, it was impossible to see his face.

“I’m…” You didn’t get to say ‘not wearing any underwear’ before he interrupted you.

“NOW!” The power of his voice made your eyes well with tears but took away all hesitation.

With numb shaky fingers, you pulled off the coat as fast as you could. Then you ripped the wet shirt over your head, your hair feeling like icicles. You stepped out of the boot and pushed down the pants.

He paid you no attention as he went to the fireplace and tossed some logs inside. You’d never been naked in front of anyone, but were already feeling guilt and shame from running away and leaving him.

The fire roared to life and Bucky turned and walked away. For a few seconds, you got a look at his face. Even though it was brief you saw the anger.

“I’m sorry.” It came out with a whimper.

The warmth of the fire felt amazing and you put your hands toward the flames, any minor embarrassment over your nudity vanishing.

There was a rustle behind you, but you didn’t turn to look. Would he forgive you? What if he threw you out? Where would you go? Tears started to fall.

Something soft touched your shoulders. Bucky had covered you with a blanket. You shut your eyes, your drops burning your skin as the dripped down your cheek. You really did not deserve this.

“You could have died.” Bucky appeared next to you, holding his hands to the flames. “Is that what you want?”

“No.” You sniffled and glanced over at him.

In the firelight, you saw his bare chest, a similar blanket over his shoulders. He was just as cold as you were, and probably just as naked.

“I said I’d take care of you Peach.” Bucky’s glanced over at you with slanted eyes. “But you’re making that pretty fucking hard.”

“I…I got scared.” You gulped. “It won’t happen again.”

“Of me?” He turned toward you, unable to hide the hurt in his voice.

“No.” You twisted toward him, pulling the blanket around yourself.

His eyes scanned your face, probably trying to tell if you were lying or not. Honestly, you weren’t certain yourself. Everything was so confusing, but one thing was certain. You were grateful for this man. You remembered your promise to prove it.

Before you had a chance to think of a way to express your gratitude Bucky spoke.

“What you did tonight; running out there in a storm.” He clenched his jaw. “You’ve been a bad girl.”

You dropped your gaze to the floor as you recoiled at his words. A renewed sense of shame coming from your heart. A cold hand was on your chin, tilting your head back up.

Bucky was inches from your face as he moved closer.

“I am going to keep you safe.” Your feet started backing away as he grew nearer. “Even if that means protecting you from yourself.”

The firelight dancing across his face made him look feral. Your back hit the wall and Bucky kept walking until his face was centimeters from yours. He paused his chest heavy with breath and fingers holding your chin in place.

His words and actions were too much to process. Bad girl. The phrase was still gut-wrenching. You had to apologize. Again and again, until he believed you.

You parted your lips to speak the words but before they left your mouth Bucky wooshed down. His lips pressed to yours.

“EMMF!” You popped your eyes open in surprise.

Bucky let out a grunt and pushed down harder, forcing your lips against your teeth. You opened your jaw wider, scared you were going to bleed, but the movement gave Bucky the perfect opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth and he took it.

His kiss was as demanding as he was, his tongue rolling against yours. Demanding it come to life and respond.

Your head was swimming too much to even attempt to take over so your body did what it was told and you returned his kiss.

Bucky let out a groan of approval and for a moment you felt like you were melting along with the snow still caked in your hair.

He moved closer, positioning himself so his leg was between yours. His thigh pushed against your pussy, the only barrier between the two of you was the blanket. The movement brought you back to reality.

What were you doing? Kissing a stranger? Being naked in front of him? You brought your hands to his chest to push him away, but once they touched his skin you couldn’t bring yourself to shove.

Bucky popped his thigh up, creating friction before lowering it down. The action made you gasp into his mouth, but he never stopped kissing you.

His fingers disappeared from your chin and he grabbed your wrists, one in each hand. He brought them above your head and went flush with your body, lifting you up in the process.

You were practically dangling in front of him, forced to put your weight on his thigh, which he kept sliding up and down slowly. The blanket fell from your shoulders, exposing your breasts. If his leg wasn’t pining it to your body you would’ve been totally bare for the man.

This was wrong. You didn’t know what you were doing. But he was so powerful. Even if you tried to break away would he let you? But more importantly, did you want to?

Bucky pushed your hands together and transferred them into his metal hand. He traced his right one down your side until he came to your hip. He gripped you, digging his fingers in to keep you still.

It made you cry out, but he ignored your protest and continued to kiss you. He held you still against the wall, working his thigh against your pussy, making you focus on the sensations developing.

The stillness made you realize you had been moving, riding him. But now with you pinned he was in complete control. The realization made the act even hotter. What was wrong with you?

Before you could answer the question he picked up speed. Pressing down on your clit as he rocked his thigh against you. His chest barely grazing your nipples as his body moved.

Why did this feel so good? You tried to rock your hips against him only to have him grunt and dig his fingers harder into your hip.

He was in control. You needed to remember that. But his leg was starting to build pressure inside of you. One that you desperately wanted to release. Your body started to shake as you grew closer.

Bucky’s tongue continued to work against yours, but you weren’t sure if you were responding anymore. The only thing you could think of was the orgasm you were chasing.

Orgasm. That was it. This was the first time anyone other than you would draw one from your body. The concept made it that much more desirable. You were tired of being alone. You’d be so alone for so long.

Before you could focus on that line of thought Bucky’s leg picked up speed and you moaned. He pulled his mouth away and pressed his forehead to yours.

Your lips were raw and pulsing from his rough treatment, but you wanted his lips back and found yourself trying to lean your mouth back to his.

“Cum. Cum for me Peach.”

Your eyes moved from his lips to his blues. They were focused on you with deep intensity.

“NOW.” He said the word as he pressed his thigh against you hard.

The explosion happened immediately and you moaned as your body fell forward. Pleasure flooded your every nerve as your toes curled. It felt like you were floating and in a way, you were since your feet did not touch the floor.

“Good girl,” Bucky growled.

His praise sent another wave of tingles through your body. You were his good girl again. That made you almost as happy as the orgasm. Why?

The thought vanished as his hands left your body and you actually fell. Instead of slamming into Bucky’s chest he moved to the side and caught you, turning you around as he cradled you in his arms, both blankets falling to the floor.

His eyes bore into yours, but you were still trying to catch your breath from the orgasm to form a coherent thought.

He dropped down to his knees and started to lay you down. Soft cushions hit your back and you turned your head to see they were on the floor behind you. Bucky’s arms dipped away and he positioned himself on top of you.

It dawned on you what was about to happen and your blood pressure flared. You brought your hands to his chest and shook your head.

“Wait.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours, the flame danced over his face and your head started to swim again. He was beautiful and so kind. What were you scared of?

“I’ll never hurt you Peach.” He dipped his head and pressed his lips to yours.

The words relaxed you and his hard kisses turned soft and he licked your lips, asking for an invitation inside. You parted them and spread your legs, bending your knees.

His hand was between your body and you felt the tip of his cock run up your slit. The previous orgasm has left you soaked and his velvet head gathered some of your juices. He positioned himself at your entrance.

This was it. Stop. You should say the word, but you couldn’t bring yourself to break the kiss. This was what Bucky wanted and didn’t he deserve it? Were you his reward?

His hips flexed down and the warmth of the fire felt nothing like the burn in your pussy as he entered you.

The kiss was no longer an option as your through your head back and winced, gripping his shoulders as you bit back a scream. You heard the first time hurt, but your hips tried to move back as he sunk deeper inside of you, opening you more than you ever thought possible.

“Are you a virgin?” Bucky’s fingers ran down your cheek as he stilled.

You nodded your head and tried to straighten out your body. You expected him to pull out. Be disgusted with your lack of experience.

Instead, his eyes flashed with hunger and his brow deepened. He stared right at you as he continued his descent, splitting you.

Your lip trembled as the pain returned.

“It will pass.” Bucky gave you a light kiss. “It will pass Peach. Then you will be all mine.”

Your body responded to his words, and it felt like you relaxed. As if your pussy was begging to be filled by him.

“That’s it.” Bucky kissed you again. “What a good girl you are. My Peach.”

You stopped biting your lip since his comment drew a moan from you. There was nothing but possessiveness on his face as he slid deeper inside of you.

Your arms were shaking as your chest heaved with deep breaths. Then you felt his pelvic bone press against you. He was sheathed.

“All mine.” Bucky pushed his tongue between your lips.

He didn’t move his cock and soon the pain turned into a dull ache as he kissed you. His mouth started to demand a response and you found yourself returning his kiss.

It was deep and passion filled as he ran one of his arms down your side. His tongue probed you and you welcomed it, but soon it wasn’t enough. You tried to wiggle your hips underneath him, wanting some form of friction.

Bucky flexed his hips and you moaned. Then he pulled out slightly before sliding back into you with ease. There was no hint of pain.

He continued, sliding in and out of you at a slow pace leaving a little more with each motion. The heat from him and the fire caused sweat to form over your entire body.

You started lifting your hips to meet him and each time he withdrew you whimpered eagerly awaiting his swift return.

The pace was too slow. You needed more. His cock was bringing every nerve in your body to life, making them all dance of edge. You’d never felt more alive in your life than at this moment. It was like giving in to animalistic nature.

Nothing mattered, but him. Everything was on fire and Bucky was the water that could put it out. Your nerves flared and you could no longer kiss him, incapable of controlling anything you let your head fall back.

The slowness you were imaging was gone. Bucky was bumping into you at a quick pace that he’d increased so gradually you hadn’t even noticed.

“My Peach.” Bucky fucked into you. “Mine.”

The cliff of your orgasm approached and you flung yourself forward. Your vision went white and hearing blank as you dug your nails into his shoulder. All of your senses blurred into one and you could not tell if you were screaming and you did not care if you were or not.

“Ugh.” Bucky bottomed out inside of you.

His cock seized inside of you and he collapsed. His body as sticky with sweat as yours was. Both of you were gasping for breath.

Safe. That was all you could think of before exhaustion drew you in. You were safe with Bucky.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Comments/Likes/Reblogs are appreciated more than you realize! Muah!

#bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #marvel fanfic

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cilldaracailin · 5 years ago

Text

A Kind of Magic

Hey everyone. I am back with the squeal to Under Pressure. This story is also on AO3 and can be found here:https://archiveofourown.org/works/24097855/chapters/58006354

Hope you all enjoy it :)

“Never stop just because you feel defeated. The journey to the other side is attainable only after great suffering.”

“Can I get you anything to drink sir?”

“Just some water would be great, thank you.”

Taron carefully took the small plastic cup from the air hostess and thanked her again as he put it gently down on his tray table, slotting his elbows back into the small space he had as he sat in the middle seat of row twenty-seven on the flight, taking a painful breathe in as sudden turbulence jolted him in his tiny seat.

Inhaling through his nose and then out of his mouth, he moved his body so it was slightly more comfortable in the hard seat, resting his head on the back of his chair. It was a breathing technique he had learnt less than a week ago and he had put it to use many times since he had stepped on the airplane and the reason why he was on the airplane was because of the person who had taught him that breathing technique he was using.

Robyn.

That letter she left for him in the hospital has caused an emotion Taron hadn’t expected to experience and that was loss. After another long sleep helped with medication, he woke only to remember once again that he didn’t get to talk to Robyn before she left and with all the time he had to sit and think in the hospital bed, the more Taron realised that he was not only hurt by the conversation that never happen but at a loss by her sudden departure. He recalled a chat they had had in the store about Robyn needing to take a flight home but with the nightmare they had been through, he really didn’t expect her to go so suddenly. In a day or two perhaps but not a few hours after they had been rescued from the 7/11. He knew she had her own injuries too and having experienced her level-headedness many times throughout their time together in the store, when she made the decision to take her flight, Taron really didn’t believe Robyn was thinking clearly.

His time in the hospital hadn’t been as relaxing as the doctor told him it would be. The decrease in his pain medication on the Sunday night, really brought to light how sore he was and although the pain didn’t compare to anything he felt while sitting in the 7/11, his body ached, stiff muscles and joints feeling the twinge once he was brought to his feet. After his full day of sleeping straight through on Saturday, thanks to the medication he was given, Taron then found it impossible to switch his mind off and spent his time dozing rather than deeply sleeping and any time he did manage to comfortably sleep, he was woken up by doctors on their rounds and nurses checking his IV line. Doctor Hart had come back to see him on Sunday afternoon and did another complete examination of him, and was so pleased with his assessment that he took Taron off the monitor that screened his vitals as well as the oxygen. He left him with his IV as Taron was still finding it difficult to eat anything more than a few bites, though he was pleased to see that this patient was drinking fluids. With some initial help from Ruth, Taron had also managed to be get up and walk a little by Sunday evening, and although his movements were slow, he felt less restricted and by Tuesday could smoothly walk around and had walked as comfortably as he could with his injuries down to the hospital coffee shop with Richard.

Richard, who had to fly back to Chicago on Tuesday afternoon to finish filming, had come to visit him on the Sunday morning as he had promised the day before, bringing with him some clothes so Taron could get out of the hospital gown and change into more comfy sweatpants and a t-shirt and stayed with Taron to be his moral support as he made two important phone calls, one more so than the other.

First was his mam and he wasn’t afraid to admit that as soon as he heard her voice, he broke down and cried, his mam being the one to comfort him instead of the other way around, as it was his plan to reassure her because he knew she would have been worried sick at hearing he was in the hospital.

“Taron, love it’s ok.” Soothed Tina as she heard her son break down in a sob, that cut her to the core, even more so when she couldn’t be there to hug him. “Richard and Robyn have both spoken to me and I know everything love. I know what has happened and that you will be ok.”

It took a few minutes before Taron could actually get any words out and speak to his mam and once he started talking he couldn’t stop, needing to get everything that happened off his chest, his mam listening to every word and interrupting when needed to comfort her son. “It was so frightening mam. I have never felt a pain like it before and there was just blood everywhere.”

“I can only imagine Taron.”

“It was just so easy for that man to shoot off a gun and not think twice.”

“There are some idiots out there but you can’t focus on what happened in the 7/11. You need to look at the positives and the first one I can think of, is that you are here, alive and talking to me.”

“Mam I don’t even remember most of what happened to be honest. There are moments that are completely blank for me.”

“And that is why I am so relieved Robyn was there Taron. I can’t even bare to think about what would have happened to you if she wasn’t there.” It was Richard who had explained to Taron’s mam about how he was given CPR in the store, as per Robyn’s instructions in the letter she had left him, making sure Tina knew how quickly he was revived, more importantly how Taron was going to make a full recovery with no complications and it was information that had really shaken her, knowing she had nearly lost her son. Tina understood so much better now why Robyn had left out so many details of what had happened in the 7/11 when she had called her, the young woman knowing it was only when Tina spoke to her son for herself that she would believe he was ok.

Tina heard her son go quiet very quickly once she mentioned Robyn. “Taron? Taron what’s wrong.”

“Robyn’s gone mam.” He answered quietly.

“Wait, what do you mean gone? I was only speaking to her yesterday.”

“She has gone home. Back to Ireland.”

It was hard for Taron to explain why Robyn left because he didn’t know the answer and it was a surprise that was echoed in his mam’s reaction too. “I don’t understand Taron. She just went home?” Once Richard had spoken to Tina and actually explained what had happened in the 7/11, Tina was desperate to speak to the young woman who had saved her son’s life, particularly when the way she explained what she did for Taron as ‘simple first aid’ was nowhere near the truth. “I really wanted to, well no, I needed to speak to her again.”

“You and me both mam. She just left me a letter explaining that she was sorry and she had to go home.”

“Oh, Taron love.”

The conversation with his mam lasted nearly an hour and then another half hour while he spoke to his sisters, all of them finding it hard to say goodbye to each other, Taron needing another emotional pep talk from his family as tears quickly came to his eyes again as they said goodbye.

His second phone call was to Matthew, his director, who appeared in his hospital room on the Monday morning during visiting hours.

“Jesus Taron.” Was his first reaction when he walked into the room, seeing Taron on his feet as he walked back from the bathroom, wheeling his IV with him as he moved.

“Good to see you too Matthew.” Taron cringed as he sat on the bed. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well I heard my lead actor had an accident. You look like absolute shit.”

“You didn’t need to fly out here.”

“Yes, I did. You are my friend first and foremost and I wanted to come and see you. Make sure you are ok.”

“I am going to be ok. I can actually walk by myself today and it hurts less to move”

“I’ve heard your look of lying on the floor of the 7/11 was worse than this.” Matthew sat on the chair beside the bed.

“I’ll live.” Replied Taron as he eased himself back onto the pillows behind his back.

“I have also heard rumours that you nearly didn’t.” Taron looked to his director from under his eye lashes. “So, it is true. Isn’t that something you think you should tell me.”

“Who were you talking too? My mam?”

“No Richard. I called him when you were quite sparse with the details of what had actually happened in the store. Why didn’t you bloody tell me you were given CPR Taron.”

“It’s not something I really like to talk about. It’s not good to dwell on the fact that you died for a minute.”

“Ahh shit Taron.” Taron couldn’t meet his eye. “What happened?”

“The doctor told me that the combination of all the injuries I had sustained and sitting in the store for over nine hours with no pain relief just caused my body to shut down.”

“Jesus Taron.” Matthew had no idea Taron had been through such horrific trauma. “The paramedics gave you CPR?”

He took his head. “There was a girl, well a woman… Robyn and she gave me CPR. Got me back breathing in under a minute.” Matthew sat back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “I am going to be ok. All my tests and results came back clear and the doctor is really happy with my recovery so far, quicker than he expected too. I have been up and walking around the ward and they plan on taking my IV out tomorrow. I was told I will be sore and tender for a few weeks and need to take it really easy.”

“CPR Taron, Jesus Christ. How did she not break your ribs?”

Taron shrugged his shoulders, regretting the simple movement as his left hand went to his right arm to soothe the twinge he felt from the wound there. “Doctor Hart was left puzzled too but it doesn’t mean she didn’t go hard.” Taron pulled up his grey t-shirt letting Matthew see the palm shaped bruises on the middle of his chest. “She went hard.” Repeated Taron as he pulled his t-shirt back down. It wasn’t until Taron took a shower that morning, one that was badly needed, that he saw the bruises on his chest from Robyn’s hands, bruises that hit home to him, just how important Robyn’s actions were. If Taron’s chest was sensitive and uncomfortable, he could only imagine the state of Robyn’s hands.

“She saved your life.” Taron nodded, his hand resting on his chest. “Well where is this woman. I would very much like to meet her.”

Taron lay back in the bed really not wanting to have this conversation again but with a calming breathe, he began to relay the story of ‘Robyn’.

Matthew left Taron with a hug and assurance that the filming of the movie had been suspended until Taron was back to full health and it was the way it was going to be, no matter how much Taron protested over it.

“Excuse me can I just get past you please? I need to stretch my legs.”

Taron was pulled from his memories and looked to the man sitting to his left. The downside to sitting in the middle of the row at the window, was having to move every time the passenger next to him needed to leave the seat and this was the third time since they had left the airport in South Carolina that the passenger to his right had wanted to get out of their seat. Gritting his teeth, Taron lifted his plastic cup of water, drank it down in one and then clicked his table back in and gingerly getting to his feet as his ribs protested at the quick movement, slid out of the row and into the aisle, allowing the customer to exit the row.

“Thank you.”

Taron gave him a nod and turned to the other passenger in the row. “I think I will have a stretch too.” He said using it as an excuse at not having to sit back down and then having to get back up again. He didn’t think he would able to hold in the groan if he had to get up and down twice in the space of five minutes and with his body already objecting to sitting so straight and so still for the last two hours, he thought maybe a walk would loosen his tight muscles.

Pulling his hat further down on his head he started to take slow steps down the skinny aisle. It was an overnight flight and the majority of the passengers on the flight were asleep, taking advantage of the low lighting and hum of the plane. Taron hadn’t properly slept in the last five days and couldn’t help but feel jealous of those who easily slumbered in their seat. It was actually his third flight and thankfully his last one before he landed in Dublin and the late-night flight would have him in Ireland at eight fifty am on Thursday morning.

However, it hadn’t been so easy as hopping on a plane. He had to fight his case with Doctor Hart to be discharged from the hospital four days earlier than planned.

“No Taron. Absolutely not.”

“Please just listen to me.”

“No Taron.”

“You told me that if I listen to the nurses and walk around you would discharge me.”

“Yes, at the end of the week, not today Tuesday. End of the week, Friday, probably even Saturday.”

Taron followed the doctor out of the door his room and to the nurse’s station. “I am not asking to be discharged today.” He said as the doctor stopped at the desk where Ruth was sitting. “I am asking to be discharged tomorrow.”

“For goodness sake Taron, are you trying to end up back in the hospital? You have only just come off the IV line.”

“I promise I will rest and take it easy but I need to go. I need to leave the hospital and I can’t do that until you discharge me.”

“And I am not going to do that Taron. I am sorry but even with your quick recovery, I won’t risk it.”

“Then write on the fucking papers that I understand the risks and let me go!” Shouted Taron, running his hands frustratedly through his hair, wincing as he brushed the dressing on his forehead.

“Taron…” Ruth stood up. “Hey, take it easy.”

Letting a sigh leave his lips, Taron looked to the Doctor. “I am sorry.” He said. “I am really sorry but I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t sit in that bloody room with my thoughts. I need to leave.”

“Taron, it’s four more days.” Replied the doctor. “I really want to be sure that you are not carrying any secondary injuries.”

“You told me I was clear on Sunday. You said you were amazed at how I had gotten to my feet so quickly, at how I adapted to the change in my pain relief.”

“And I am.”

“Then please let me go.” Begged Taron.

“Why are you so desperate to leave the hospital?”

“Robyn.” Answered Taron simply.

“Robyn? Sorry Taron you are going to have to explain that a bit better to me.”

He pulled the letter from the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled down the neck of his t-shirt. “These are the only two things I have from Robyn. A letter and some bruises. I cannot explain it, I don’t know how to explain it but all I know is that I feel empty, hurt and at a loss that this is all I have from the person who saved my life with no way to contact her.”

“You also have your life.” Chipped in Ruth. “You said you only have two things, but you have three. The letter, the bruises and your life.”

Doctor Hart looked impatiently to Ruth who shrugged her shoulders at him. “I don’t understand what any of this has to do with me discharging you early.”

“Ooh are we having a staff meeting?” Doctor Keane walked up. She was completing her rounds, when she heard raised voices at the nurse’s station and recognising one of those voices as Doctor Hart, went to see what was going on. She was surprised to see his patient standing beside him, looking frustrated and upset, even more surprised to see Taron on his feet as the last time she saw him, he was almost writhing in pain. “Hey Taron, it is good to see you on your feet. You look really well. Really well actually. What’s going on? Are you trying to raid the nurse’s chocolates?”

“He is asking to be discharged.” Scoffed Doctor Hart.

“What? Taron?”

“Robyn left.” Taron turned to the new doctor. “I mean the woman who…”

“… Gave you CPR. Yeah, I know her. I stitched her up.”

Taron had to double take. “You stitched her up.”

“Well yeah. I popped two stitches in her shoulder and examined her when you all came in from the 7/11.” Phoebe watched as the Taron’s eyes widened in surprise. “But you wouldn’t know any of this because she left and went home. Did you even get to see her before she left?” She watched as Taron shook his head, causing her to move forward and place a hand on his shoulder. “She took her flight home, didn’t she?” Taron nodded again, feeling that sadness he had been trying to keep at bay creeping into him. “Please tell me you are not going after her.” She was met with watery tired green eyes. “Taron…”

“Don’t.” He said talking two steps backwards so her hand fell from his shoulder. “Don’t ‘Taron’ me. I am not ashamed to say that I was shit scared in that 7/11 and there was one person there keeping me calm and together and that was Robyn. She never panicked. She never showed an ounce of fear and she didn’t think twice to helping when I was caught under that shelving unit. She held my hand for near five hours straight and she only let go to find a way, that I have learnt since, that risked her life so she could save mine and then she undertook something that I can’t even begin to comprehend because it causes my chest to tighten up and my stomach to turn and I haven’t been able to talk through my daunting emotions because the one person I needed desperately to talk to left. I am not going to go and do something stupid. I am not going back to work. I am going to go and find her; I need to find her.” The two doctors and the nurse watched as Taron took two breathes and closed his eyes as he tried to settle his emotions. “I cannot wait until Saturday.” He said his hands rubbing his eyes as he wiped unfallen tears away.

Doctor Keane looked to Ruth. “You got a spare chair back there Ruth.” The nurse nodded and the doctor walked around the desk of the nurse’s station and wheeled the chair around behind Taron. “Will you sit for me?” She asked him and held onto the chair as he carefully lowered himself into the soft leather, his head going straight into his hands, a wince filling his features with the movement. Phoebe could see the young man in front of her starting to crumble and she was nervous about him standing, much more comfortable when he was sitting down.

“Taron, look at me.” Doctor Keane knelt in front of him, placing two hands on his knees, feeling his legs shaking under her touch.

“Phoebe…” Started Doctor Hart but he stopped when he saw the look on Phoebe’s face. It was one he was used to seeing from his colleague when she was displeased.

“Taron, sweetheart, look at me.” Beautiful green eyes which were laden with grief and pain unwillingly looked at her. “Why do you need leave the hospital today? Why can’t you wait until Saturday? You know you were seriously hurt and although you are up and walking about and might feel a lot better than you did three days ago, your body is still healing and when we ask you to stay in the hospital, it is for a reason.”

“You looked after Robyn?” Asked Taron looking at the doctor and when she nodded, he continued. “Did she speak to you about what had happened?”

“To be honest, not really. I kind of had to drag it out of her. She was battling with a lot of emotions.”

“So after speaking with her, you can understand how I am feeing right now but the one person who properly understands what I am going through, the one person I needed to talk to and see when I woke up was gone and all that was left was a letter. I know you are all trained professionals and you have all taken such great care of me and helped me and I am so thankful to you all but please realise it is Robyn I am indebted too. It is Robyn’s solid presence I crave so I can get these building emotions under control because I feel like I am going to burst and as much as I need Robyn, it seems like she needs too. Richard and I have had the chance to talk about what has happened, but who has Robyn spoken too? I know we are strangers but I learnt one thing about Robyn as we were pushed together in such a horrific situation and that is, she is very stubborn.”

“Well that is something we can agree on. Robyn is a very determined young woman.”

Taron looked to the doctor. “I was breaking through those walls. She let me help her and I can’t explain how she helped me. I can’t form the words to describe what she did for me and if I am feeling so shaken and almost traumatised by what happened to us, imagine what Robyn is feeling. I need to talk to her. I need to see her. I just can’t wait until Saturday.” Taron placed his head into his hands again, trying to stop himself from breaking down in a flood of tears.

Doctor Keane turned to look at Doctor Hart and giving Taron’s knee a squeeze stood up and looked to Ruth who moved from her place at the nurse’s station to stand beside Taron as his body started to shake with effort he had just made to fight his case. It had taken a lot of energy which he didn’t have.

“No Phoebe. Don’t even start defending him. He is my patient.”

“And Robyn was mine.”

“She was nowhere as badly hurt as Taron was.”

“I don’t think that is something you can prove Steve. Just because Taron’s injuries are more visual than Robyn’s.”

“He was shot with a bullet.”

“And she gave him the CPR that saved his life and we both know it is the person who performs the CPR that is affected more and before the CPR came into play, wasn’t it Robyn who cleaned Taron up and stopped him from panicking. It would have been a very different outcome if she wasn’t there.”

“I understand all that Phoebe and I have met Robyn and saw that she was very vital to Taron’s condition when he arrived at the hospital. I saw her talk to him kindly before I brought him to the CT scan and believe me I know how she saved his life, I examined him but I just don’t feel comfortable letting him leave the hospital only four days after he was admitted, a day after coming off an IV line.”

“Steve, he’s not going to go and do anything reckless. He just wants to go and see the girl who saved his life. Don’t you agree with him when he says Robyn is the only one who understands what he has been through?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then shouldn’t we give them both the opportunity to heal their mental health too?”

“She chose to leave.”

“It wasn’t as easy as that for Robyn. Believe me. Her emotions were very raw too, just like Taron’s and while at the time she saw Taron as her responsibly, once he was in the hospital being cared for, she had her own responsibilities to think about and being a very sensible adult, she made a decision that was extremely hard for her. I have no doubt in my mind that Robyn wouldn’t have left if she didn’t have too.” Phoebe took Steve’s elbow and led him down the corridor a little. “They need to talk this through with each other. If he arrives at her door, do you honestly think she is going to turn him away?”

“He needs rest, not a reunion.”

“I am sure you have gathered by now that Taron is not from here and is working here, work that I am sure has been postponed until he is fully fit. He is not going to stay in America to rest, he will want to go home so he is going to have to take a flight where he will more than likely go to his apartment or house and be by himself…”

“… Or to his family.”

“Who have no idea what he is going through and I would like to point out that you have not argued with me on the ‘flight’ part of that sentence.” Doctor Keane continued before Doctor Hart could protest. “Surely he would be better off going to see the person he has been connected with in the most unusual way possible. There is no one else who Taron can talk to about this and I know for a fact, seeing as how I was the doctor who looked after Robyn that she desperately needs someone to talk to as well and that person should be Taron.”

“He wants to leave tomorrow Phoebe.”

“And?”

“And he has sustained some serious injuries.”

“And?”

“Phoebe!”

“For a man who has been shot, technically died and been through so much stress and anxiety in the last four days, he is still pretty resilient and you and I both know he will not give up that easily and as I speak, he proves my point. Here he comes.”

Taron couldn’t hear the conversation that was going on once the two doctors had moved away from him so even though Ruth tried to stop him, he got up from the chair and walked over to them.

“Look I am sorry for causing a fuss over this. I really don’t mean too. I just… I can’t… I don’t…” Taron stopped and took a shaky breath as he tried to think of what to say, taking another as words failed him. “The hurt, more than the physical hurt, is indescribable and intense and the only person who is going to help me get through this is Robyn and I truly believe that I can help her too. I promise I am not going to do anything that is more than getting a flight, seeing Robyn and sleeping a lot.”

Taron didn’t know if it was the private chat from the second doctor or his pleading but Doctor Hart agreed to discharge him the next day, with strict instructions that he was to rest, take the medication he was to be prescribed and if he felt faint, dizzy or short of breathe he had to go to the local doctor at once.

“Can I ask a favour though?” Chanced Taron talking more to the doctor who had looked after Robyn, feeling it was because of her that Doctor Hart had agreed to sign his discharge papers early. “I don’t know where she lives. I don’t even know her surname. Is there any way you can give me her address from the medical forms she had to fill in please? Or even a surname and I can try and find her myself.”

“That’s some serious breach of doctor and patient confidentially Taron.” Smiled Doctor Keane but without a second thought, walked to the nurse’s station and pulled out Robyn’s file. “Robyn Quinn, Poplar Road, Kilcreen, Co Kildare, Ireland.” She enjoyed the genuine smile that lit up his handsome features as she read out Robyn’s address to him and the unexpected hug he walked around the nurse’s station to give her too.

“You must promise me that you will look after yourself and Robyn too.” She said as she gently hugged him back.

Taron thought he was going to have a tougher battle on his hands when he called his mam to tell her that he wasn’t actually going home to Wales but rather to Ireland but Tina, who desperately wanted to see her son and hug him tight, supported his decision completely.

“Do not apologise to me Taron. Of course, you know I would rather you came home but I also understand this is something you have to do. You need to mentally heal after what you have been through and as much I would love to be that person to help you do that, I know it can’t be and I agree with you, Robyn needs this as much as you do.”

It was his mam who helped him to book the flights over the phone there and then but unfortunately as it was coming to the end of the summer season and most flights were fully booked, the only way to get to Ireland was by taking three flights. One from Tampa to Orlando, Orlando to South Carolina and then South Carolina to Dublin. It was a trip that would take about twenty hours with layovers included but it was his quickest option to get to Robyn so he took it without question.

Richard had already dropped his duffle bag off to him when they had said goodbye to each other Tuesday afternoon, Richards own work commitments meaning he had to leave his friend and Taron was so thankful for Richard when he opened the bag to see brand new t-shirts and jeans in his duffle as well as a peaked hat, some hoodies and a packet of turtles. Taron had only packed shorts and light t-shirts for the weather in Florida. He had already confessed to Richard that he was planning to go and find Robyn when they had a coffee yesterday morning and instead of telling his friend he was stupid, Richard told him he would bring his bag to him, filling it with new clothes, giving him a very supportive hug before he left.

Taron passed by the air hostesses as he walked down the aisle, giving them a smile as he kept going towards the front of the plane, the walking helping a little to relax tired muscles. With the flight being booked so last minute, Taron could only take whatever seat was available to him. He wasn’t bothered by travelling first class or anything like that but really would have liked to have gotten a window seat for the longer flight to Dublin but unfortunately was stuck in the middle for each flight and it was hard having no space either side of him to stretch or move a little and sitting in the middle meant there was not a chance of getting some sleep. He was thinking about using his table as a pillow but figured he would end up regretting staying in that position for too long, so he sat with his hat pulled down low, his eyes closed. He had already taken his pain killer before he got on the plane and it was helping to take the edge of the more severe pain he felt but as he walked up the aisle, each step caused a ripple of discomfort through his side and head.

Taron turned and started to walk back down toward the back of the plane and his seat. Right now, he may have been on the plane on his way to Ireland, but once he got there, he was at a loss of what to do next. It was a rush of booking flights, getting prescriptions filled and completing final examinations so Doctor Hart was absolutely sure he was happy to discharge Taron and he had left the hospital just before six that morning to get to the airport so once he got off the plane in Dublin, he actually didn’t have a plan for what to do next.

He had Robyn’s name and address and that was it and would figure out the rest when he landed. He reached his seat and apologised as the passenger at the end who had to get up to let him back into his seat which he carefully shuffled into, easing himself down. He clicked his seatbelt back in and leaned his head against the chair, closing his eyes and ignored the butterflies in his stomach.

#Taron Egerton #Taron Egerton Fanfiction #Taron Egerton Fanfic #Taron fanfic #Angst #friendship #loyalty #sequel #love fanfiction #determination

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years ago

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🎃 Frightful October Act IV, #11 ~ Jealousy (Cory Hong)

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Supernatural, Romance, Vampire AU

Word Count: 3,227

Pairing: Reader x Cory

World: 24K

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When you first met Cory, he was a member of the group 24K. You had met the group through mutual friends and instantly hit it off with the group’s leader. Pretty soon, you and Cory became inseparable – every bit of spare time he had was spent with you.

He was your best friend and you were his, but life seemed determined to keep the two of you apart. Every time you made plans to hang out, something came up at the last minute and the outing had to be canceled. It got to the point where you weren’t able to see each other at all. You were busy with college and work, while Cory was working his ass off trying to make it big.

A month passed. Two. Three.

You could feel yourself growing apart from him and it scared you. While you had many acquaintances in your life, you only had a handful of friends but none of them bore the same weight in your heart as Cory did. What if you never saw him again? What if he forgot about you?

You frowned at the thought and quickly shook your head. He was a busy man that barely got time for himself, must less for anyone else. You were thankful for whatever time he could spare you, no matter how little that ended up being.

That was enough for you… right?

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A year had passed since you last saw Cory. Your brother had gotten into a car accident and needed to be looked after, so you left South Korea, returning to your home state of Oregon to care for him. It had broken your heart to say goodbye to Cory, but nothing could be done about it. You briefly wondered if the universe really did have something against your friendship.

Autumn had finally rolled around and you couldn’t be happier. It was your favorite time of year, after all. A Halloween superstore had just opened up down the street from your college and you wasted no time in applying there. You got a callback that same day – you were hired to work the closing shift, from six in the afternoon until close at midnight.

There were a couple others that had been hired for the same shift, and they were not happy about you. You were, though. Ever since you had been a kid, you’ve always found solace in the night time. It was peaceful and quiet, and more importantly, lacked the number of people you would typically find during the day.

Between work and school, you didn’t have much free time. Although there were others that had been scheduled to work the closing shift throughout the week, they up and quit without warning, leaving your boss understaffed. You offered to take over their hours, which he happily agreed.

Getting to work in a store surrounded by Halloween decorations, props, and costumes during the night time when very few people messed with you… it was like a childhood dream come true!

The bell above the door dinged as it was pulled open and you smiled brightly. “Welcome! Oh, hello, Fried.”

Fried smiled a charming smile, brushing strands of his navy blue hair away from his face. As usual, his long hair was loosely braided, resting on his right shoulder. The bright red ribbon on the end stuck out against his dark clothes. “A fine night to you, Y/N.”

Fried was a regular. He had been visiting the store every night without fail since the day it opened, always appearing around ten-thirty. He never actually bought anything, just browsed the products and made small talk with you. It creeped out the other employees that had worked the same shift, but you just assumed that he was lonely and enjoyed the Halloween merchandise like you did. He never did or said anything bad, so his presence didn’t bother you in the slightest.

Cory always did say you were too trusting for your own good.

“You got in new stock today, as I understand,” he commented as he approached the glass counter, watching you re-arrange the candles on shelves behind the counter.

“That’s right!” you smiled over your shoulder at him before picking up another scented candle from the box, this one claiming to smell like witch’s brew. “Vampires are pretty popular lately, so we got a whole shipment of Vampire-themed merch today.”

Fried’s dark eyes flashed with anger before returning to normal, his hand forming a fist atop the counter. “I see,” his words were breathy. “Where?”

You didn’t notice his change in attitude or how tense he became, too focused on the task at hand – you were terrified that if you let your attention slip, you’d drop and break them and they were expensive candles. “Over in the back right corner. Mason should still be over… there…” you glanced over your shoulder, blinking at the spot he had been seconds before. ‘Huh, he must be really into vampires’.

A few minutes of silence passed. You had just placed the last candle and were hopping down from the step ladder when your co-worker, Mason, approached you with a weary expression.

“Did you finish the display?” you asked with a smile.

“Almost,” he answered, glancing over his shoulder. “That guy is really weird.”

“Fried?” you questioned, tilting your head curiously.

Mason frowned at you, his blue eyes filled with worry. “You shouldn’t be so friendly with that guy, Y/N. There’s something… off about him.”

You mirrored his frown, giving him your full attention after folding up the step ladder. “He seems fine to me.”

He sighed, shaking his head. The motion caused a few strands of blonde hair to fall over his forehead. “You’re too nice, Y/N! Just… be careful, okay? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

A hand reached out, resting on his shoulder. He jumped back in surprise, slapping the hand away from him. Fried stared him down for a moment before turning to you. “Is everything alright, Y/N?”

Before you could answer him, Mason spoke up, eyes narrowed. “Sorry, but we’re closing early today. Please leave.”

“Do you even have that authority?” Fried challenged, folding his arms over his chest.

Mason scowled, taking a step forward. “I’m the manager on duty, so yes I have that authority. Leave now, sir.”

You frowned, your gaze flickering between the two men as they glared each other down. You could almost feel the electricity between them. After a tense minute, Fried turned and exited the store. Mason followed close behind, locking up and unplugging the neon ‘Open’ sign.

“Won’t you get into trouble for closing early?” you asked, softly, not wanting to further annoy him.

He seemed to relax a bit now that the door was secure, but he kept his guard up just in case. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” he offered you a smile. “Let’s finish up and head home.”

You nodded and got back to work.

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You stifled a yawn as you entered your dorm building. It was only just turning midnight, meaning you got home about an hour or so earlier than you normally would. Even so, you were exhausted and still had class to get to early that morning. You turned the corner and froze, nearly dropping your keys. “Cory?”

The male in question had been pacing back and forth in front of your door but he stopped dead when he heard your voice. One second, he was at the end of the hall and the next, he was hugging you tightly to his body, picking you up off the ground. You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, resting his face in your neck. He could hear your pulse increase. “I called you so many times!”

“I kinda forgot my phone…” you rubbed the back of your head, offering a sheepish smile.

He set you down, eyes scanning your body. It was very faint, but he detected a strange scent on you, lingering on your skin and clothes. His eyes narrowed, grip tightening unconsciously. He didn’t like that smell. Not one bit.

“Cory? What’s wrong?”

He snapped out of it, releasing you as he forced a smile. “Nothing! Just happy to see you after so long.”

Your heart skipped a beat, cheeks growing warm as you turned to your door, sliding the keys in the lock. Cory followed you inside, his nose in the air as he tried to detect the scent inside your room, but it wasn’t on any of the furniture or books. Whatever that scent came from, it had never been inside your room. That made him relax a bit.

“I didn’t know you were coming back to Oregon,” you told him, pulling your coat off.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he grinned, flopping onto the bed. “Did it work?”

“Definitely,” you turned your back to him to hide the smile that lit up your face. You were so happy to see him that you could cry, but you didn’t want to ruin the moment, so you held them back.

The scent was beginning to drive him nuts, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to fully relax as long as it invaded his nostrils. “Why don’t you go take a shower to warm up? Then we can catch up over some horror movies.”

“Is that your subtle way of saying I stink, Cory?” you raised a brow at him playfully.

If he could blush, he would have. “No, I just don’t want you to get sick.”

“Fine, fine~” you clutched your towel and change of clothes to your chest as you entered the bathroom attached to your room.

Cory grabbed your laptop, skimming through a list of horror movies. He avoided the topic of vampires and chose a movie that was sure to make your hair stand on end.

You stepped out of the bathroom, fully clothed and refreshed from the warm water. You saw Cory on his stomach on your bed, playing around on his phone. The laptop was open in front of him – he had set up the movie already, pausing it on the intro screen so you could see the title of the movie.

“The Nightmare Before Christmas? Really?” you cocked a brow, sitting beside him and crossing your legs. “Isn’t that more of a Christmas movie than Halloween?”

He shrugged, scooting over so you weren’t hanging off the edge. “Who cares. It has all of the elements to make it a good Halloween movie. It’s a movie that must be watched twice a year without fail.”

“Is that right?” you chuckled, pulling the comforter from under his body. Even though the dorms had a heating system, it was old and didn’t circulate well through the old building. Once the two of you were snuggled under the comforter, he hit play.

You made it through half the movie before your eyes began to droop. You fought against the sleepiness trying to claim you, but you lost, your head falling onto your arms. Cory smiled softly as he put his arm protectively around you, kissing your forehead.

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

You entered the Halloween store with a bright smile, greeting your co-worker before heading into the back to clock in. Cory had insisted on following you to work, refusing to accept ‘no’ as an answer. You had been hesitant, but you were scheduled to work alone that night so it would be nice to have some company. Your co-worker clocked out as soon as you clocked in and left the store with a polite ‘goodbye’.

“I didn’t think this store would be so… empty,” Cory commented when you returned to the front. He leaned on the glass counter, looking at the various glass knick-knacks that had been placed on display. “Is it always this dead?”

You hummed, thoughtfully. “It’s pretty busy during the day, but it starts to slow down around five o’clock. A couple people show up at night here and there, but I’m sure as Halloween gets closer, it’ll start to get busier.”

“And do you always work alone?” he frowned. The thought made his stomach clench painfully. He didn’t consider you to be weak by no means, but what would happen if some lunatic came at you with a gun? Your chances of survival were lowered if you were alone, and the chance of getting robbed was higher. Not only that, but there were more than just criminals stalking the night.

“Not usually, no,” you picked up the basket that had been set behind the counter. It was filled with ‘return items’, or items that people decided they didn’t want or couldn’t afford at the register. “Mason, the night manager, is usually with me, but his mom is really sick so he had to call out to care for his baby sister.”

Cory followed you closely as you returned the items, his brow furrowed in thought. ‘Mason… is he the scent I detected on her? If he usually works with her, it might just be…’

The last item in the basket was a ceramic pumpkin cookie jar that needed to be returned to the top shelf. All glass and ceramic items were kept up high to avoid kids grabbing and breaking them. Even on your tiptoes, you couldn’t quite reach the shelf.

Chuckling, Cory came up behind you, his chest against your band as his large hand overtook yours. He easily pushed the pumpkin onto the shelf, but he didn’t step back from you. Your cheeks were burning and he knew it, he could smell the blood rushing to your face.

His arms wrapped around your shoulders, his nose nuzzling your neck. It was so easy for him to turn you into a blushing mess and he loved it. He loved knowing he had this power over you, and he loved being able to feel your blood rushing through your veins. You drove him crazy and you didn’t even know it.

The bell above the door dinged and you quickly pulled away, rushing to the front of the store. You were thankful for the excuse to get away from such an embarrassing situation. Your eyes landed on Fried and you smiled, about to greet him, but his expression made you stop dead, smile faltering.

He was standing in the doorway, his hands clenched tightly at his sides and his jaw set. His eyes took in your red face and the sound of your racing heart and his eyes narrowed over your shoulder, starting to glow a bright, crimson red.

Something inside your brain told you that these were not just contacts. Alarm bells were ringing like crazy in your mind. You took a shaky step backward, smacking into Cory, who put his hands on your shoulders protectively. You glanced up at him and squeaked – his eyes were glowing red, too!

Your heart was pulsing in your ears. ‘What the hell is happening right now…’

“It was you that I smelled on her,” Cory spoke. You could see fangs inside his mouth, glinting menacingly in the low light of the store.

“And who are you?” Fried tilted his head up, a smug expression on his face. He, too had fangs that glinted when he spoke. “I have been with Y/N every day for two and a half weeks. Not once have I caught your scent. And believe me, I would have noticed since it’s so… pungent.”

Jealousy bubbled up from within him, his fists clenching as he stepped forward to put himself between you and Fried.

You aren’t sure what suddenly came over you, but you didn’t like the smug tone Fried was using or the fact that he had just insulted your best friend. You put your hands on your hips. “I’ll have you know that Cory and I are best friends and we’ve known each other for three years. And he doesn’t smell!” you instantly regretted your decision as his glare snapped to you. He looked pissed. You cleared your throat, shrinking back behind Cory, who had a mix of happiness and amusement on his face.

Fried took a step forward and Cory followed suit, ordering you to stay behind him. Fried grew angrier at this, his upper lip curling back as he hissed. “I spent three weeks scoping out this mark. Do you honestly believe I’m going to just step aside and let you have her?”

“No one decides who has me but me!” you could feel his glare through Cory’s body. “No matter how long you ‘scope me out’, I’ll never be yours!”

Fried snarled at you and you squeaked in fright, throwing your arms around Cory’s waist, your face hidden in the back of his jacket. The reality suddenly hit you that this was not a normal man that you were yelling at.

“You heard her, now leave,” Cory ordered, his voice full of bravado.

Though Fried had been a vampire much longer than Cory, about seven centuries, in fact, Cory was stronger and Fried knew that. He could easily sense the power lurking beneath the surface. If they fought it out, Fried would surely lose.

“This isn’t over,” Fried promised, but he knew it very much was. He hastily exited the store, shattering the glass when he slammed into it.

You hadn’t realized you were shaking until Cory turned, bringing you into his warm chest. His embrace was warm and protective. “Cory, you… you’re a vampire?”

His body tensed and he nodded. His voice was soft as he asked. “Are you scared of me, Y/N?”

“If I was scared of you, do you really think I’m be clinging to you, you dork?” your face was still pressed against his chest, so your words were a bit muffled, but he heard them.

Cory smiled, pulling back just enough so he could rest his forehead against yours. “I wanted to tell you so bad, but I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Your cold hands cupped his face. “You’re my best friend, Cory. No matter what happens, I’ll always be on your side,” you could feel the blood rushing to your face, but you had to speak from your heart. It was now or never. “You are honestly the most important person in my life. You always have been, and you always will be.”

Hearing those words made him lose his self-control. He slammed his lips against yours, his fangs dragging across the flesh as his grip tightened around your body. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, holding back a groan when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip to taste your blood.

“Come back to Korea with me,” he whispered, licking his lips, stained red from your blood. “We can get a house together. And a cat. I know you like cats.”

“Are you trying to bribe me with a cat?” you teased, tugging at his t-shirt.

He chuckled, running his tongue over your lip to collect the new bead of blood that had formed. “Maybe~ Is it working?”

“You had me long before you mentioned a cat,” you pulled away, your hands folded behind your back as you grinned. “But you can’t go back on your word! We are definitely getting a cat.”

“Of course,” Cory smiled, his voice soft. “I will give you the world, Y/N. Just say the word.”

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sidhewrites · 4 years ago

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The Prince in the Wood, Part 5

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part Six.

Approx. 1450 words.

Content warning for a mentions of hospitalization, medical tests, blood pressure, and one mention of of underage drinking.

So I kept it to myself. Chalked the bruises up to an uncomfortable sleeping position, and the scratch something that I must have done by accident in my sleep. Of course, I wasn’t one to stir -- hardly ever had to make the bed, I moved so little -- but it was easier simply to ignore it. After all, it never happened again. I always made it to my own bed before I fell asleep, and Mary stayed up late with a little flashlight, reading or drawing or doing whatever it was she busied herself with long after I’d fallen asleep.

And life continued. Frail, fragile Mary remained home more and more, now a regular at the doctor’s office for all the tests they were trying to run. The doctors never found anything beyond the usual -- anemia and insomnia and, occasionally, low blood pressure -- but they kept an eye out all the same.

My remaining teenage years resembled something almost normal. I got a girlfriend, then broke up with her the week before prom. I went out to parties where some of the kids drank alcohol. And I applied to colleges, both local and prestigious, just to see where I could get accepted. Mary applied as well, but we all knew she’d be going to the nearby community college to stay close to home. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t make it into anything more noteworthy than a state school that offered generous scholarships to local residents, but it was still a good few hours’ drive away -- further than I’d ever gone from home without my family, and our trips had never lasted longer than a weekend.

The idea of so much change terrified me as much as it drew me in. I loved my family, but my life had always revolved so closely around them, and a part of me was desperate to see the sort of person I would be if it was just me. No crazy sister who’d run out into the woods and spoke weird languages into thin air, no fathers obsessed with security and locking us up like prisoners. As normal as our life had become, the shadow of the past still hung over us in a way I could never truly escape without leaving home.

Mary thought it would be a great idea. We were studying one afternoon, going over guides and notes for an upcoming exam when I presented the idea to her, and she smiled at me instantly.

“You could do anything you wanted,” she said, eyes bright in a rare moment of energy. “Join a rock band. Write a movie. Become one of those goth girls that old people are scared of.”

I laughed. “Some old people are already scared of me.” I put on my best smirk a la Norman Bates, and said, “Would you like to buy some girl scout cookies?’

Mary laughed as well, and threw an eraser at me, which I promptly put in my pocket.

“Mine, now,” I said.

“Hey, wait, I need that.”

“Too bad. It’s coming to college with me, now.”

We both laughed then, arguing over erasers and supplies and forgetting to compare our notes.

The day after the exam, however, Mary had another episode. She woke up paler than ever, dark circles under her eyes, and we had to rush her to the hospital. Alarmingly low blood pressure, with another bite, this time on her wrist. It looked like it had healed up overnight, nothing more than two faint scars on her skin, but there was nothing else that seemed connected to it.

I sat with her while our dads spoke with the doctor in the hall, reading opinion columns out of yesterday’s newspaper out loud. The IV beside her bed dripped slowly, replacing the blood that had been lost seemingly overnight, and she frowned up at the ceiling, only half aware of the world around her.

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and looked up to see Mary’s hand reaching out to mine. I took it and gave a gentle squeeze, hoping it would ground her in reality at least a little bit. “I’m here,” I said.

“Promise not to forget me?” She spoke so quietly, I almost missed it.

“What?”

“When you go away and have an exciting life on your own. Will you remember me?”

I didn’t understand. She spoke as if my future had already been decided, as if she knew what I would choose when I barely knew myself. “Don’t say that. You’re my sister. How could I leave you behind?”

She just smiled sadly at me, and then looked up at the ceiling again, eyes misting over like they had so often before. Nothing else I said would reach her, and I gave up before even thinking of trying again.

But she was right, in the end. I accepted a place at the state university, and by the end of that summer, half of our bedroom was packed up in suitcases and loaded into a borrowed SUV. We made it a family trip, spending a few days in the city just exploring before I moved into the dormitory officially. It was a tearful week, though the city life seemed to do Mary some good. She filled out some, a bit of color coming to her pale face as we explored and sought out hole-in-the-wall shops and restaurants.

I slept fitfully while we were there, nothing like the deep sleep I was used to, but I wrote it off as nerves. Everything was changing all at once, after all, and I hadn’t a thought to spare for anything else.

My roommate, Shannon, was a girl from out of state who was here on both swimming and academic scholarships, and she terrified me at first -- at least until she put up video game and movie posters on her side of the wall. She introduced me to all her favorite pieces of media, as well as the best places and tips on how to study without burning yourself out. We became fast friends, and I found myself more than a little excited, even when the day finally came to say goodbye to my family.

I hugged them all tightly as I could -- even Mary, fragile as she was -- and swore to write as soon as the week was up to let them know how things were going.

“Remember your promise,” Mary said through tears, her little hand gripping mine.

“I’m not gonna forget you.” I’d lost count of how many times I had said it over the past few months, but I still said it again. “I promise. I’ll write and call, and I’ll be back home before you know it.”

She nodded, dubious, and hugged me again, before shuffling into the car and letting Pop start the long ride home.

I did write them, by the way. I remembered at the end of the week, and every other week after that for the first month or so. But school was -- busy. Occupying. I joined a club, I went to parties, and Shannon always had something to do. My letters and phone calls home became less frequent, and I thought about my family less and less. My sleeping patterns never improved, but Shannon introduced me to the world of coffee, and we spent plenty of countless nights awake, playing the latest games until dawn.

I was living a life free of my old worries and nightmares, even going so far as to spend one weekend in the nearby woods with a few friends, close enough to a campground to be legal, but far enough from civilization that we could almost forget the world beyond.

Someone had brought an electric lantern that could flicker like a dim campfire, and we sat in a circle around it, daring each other to come up with the best ghost story. Everyone came up with the cliche scary stuff -- skinwalkers, deranged murderers, and the ghosts of their victims.

And then it was my turn. Everyone looked at me, and I froze.

I’ve never been that creative. I couldn’t come up with imaginary monsters that hunted us down or things that had once been human. That had always been Mary’s gift, not mine.

Mary.

Her name struck me oddly, and guilt began to press down on my chest. How long had it been since I’d given my sister any thought? There was so much else in my life that I could barely stop to think about anything beyond the university’s campus, much less my sister, convalescing in a bedroom hundreds of miles away.

Someone said my name, and I looked up, suddenly brought back to the present.

“It’s your turn,” they said.

I nodded. I had an idea.

“These woods are alive, you know, and they have a prince. When the leaves rustle, it means they’re going to invite us to visit him for tea.”

#writeblr #horror fiction #short horror fiction #short story #original fiction #lgbtq fiction #theres like no horror in this part or like any real mentions of it but. gotta contrast the normalcy to the big climax right?#writing #mystuff

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brokehorrorfan · 5 years ago

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Blu-ray Review: The Omen Collection

In the pantheon of religious horror, the holy trinity consists of The Exorcist, Rosemary's Baby, and The Omen. Although The Omen arrived last, opening on June 6, 1976, it arguably offers more excitement than its satanic brethren (which is not to say that it is a superior film). Likely to be considered a slow-burner by today's standards, the picture builds tension and unravels a mystery at a meticulous pace, but it's punctuated by elaborate, Rube Goldberg-ian death scenes.

The Omen spawned a trilogy of films, a made-for-television sequel, and a modern remake. Scream Factory has collected all five movies in The Omen Collection, which is limited to 10,000 units. Besting Fox's earlier Blu-ray set - which omitted Part IV and featured some of the worst box set packaging known to man - each film is packaged in an individual Blu-ray case with original artwork within a rigid slipcover case. It boasts a deluge of extras, new and old.

In the original film, American diplomat Robert Thorn (Gregory Peck, To Kill a Mockingbird) and his wife, Katherine (Lee Remick, Anatomy of a Murder), adopt a baby named Damien (Harvey Stephens) after their own child is stillborn. Beginning with his fifth birthday, a string of mysterious deaths surround Damien. Upon being presented with convincing evidence by a photographer (David Warner, Tron), Robert becomes convinced that his son is none other than the antichrist, and he is faced with the task of stopping him to prevent Armageddon.

Firing on all cylinders, The Omen is an exemplary horror film. Working from a well-constructed script by David Seltzer (Shining Through, Prophecy), director Richard Donner grounds the story firmly in reality. The fantastical elements are easy to swallow, as each and every incident in the plot could be mere coincidence. Peck brings a gravitas to the production, leading a strong cast in which Remick also holds her own. Even the six-year-old Stephens, who never acted before and did very little after, is convincingly malevolent.

John Richardson's (Aliens, Harry Potter) special effects for the proto-Final Destination deaths - including one of the greatest beheadings ever committed on celluloid - remain shocking after more than 40 years. Cinematographer Gilbert Taylor (Star Wars: A New Hope, Dr. Strangelove) captures it all with clean camerawork, while Jerry Goldsmith (Alien, Gremlins) provides a chilling orchestral score elevated to pure evil with choral chanting.

The Omen has been newly mastered in 4K from the original negative, approved by Donner, for the new release. The result is a pristine presentation with improved detail and color saturation over Fox’s previous high-definition transfer. The Omen carries a whopping four audio commentaries. One, featuring special project consultant Scott Michael Bosco, is new. His audio sounds compressed - as if it were recorded on a cell phone - but it's dense with details focusing on the theological aspects. Bosco often digresses, but I appreciate the fresh perspective rather than a historian reciting IMDb trivia.

The other audio commentaries include: a track with Donner and editor Stuart Baird (Lethal Weapon, Skyfall), in which the two old friends reminisce about the highs and lows of the production; a track with Donner and filmmaker Brian Helgeland (Mystic River, L.A. Confidential), which features as much good-natured joking as it does insight; and a track with film historians Lem Dobbs, Nick Redman, and Jeff Bond, largely focusing on Goldsmith's score. A lot of information is repeated across the commentaries, but the varying viewpoints make them all worth listening to.

Seltzer and actress Holly Palance (who plays the nanny whose suicide by hanging is among the film’s most memorable moment) sit down for new interviews. Seltzer's chat is particularly enjoyable, as he's candid and humble. He openly states that his script is not as good as the movie it birthed. He also shares what he would have done if he had the opportunity to write the sequel. Palance, the daughter of the great Jack Palance, recounts her naivety about working on her first film and shooting her iconic death scene. The final new extra is an appreciation of The Omen's score by composer Chris Young, who says he looked to Goldsmith's progression across The Omen trilogy as he was scoring the Hellraiser films. It's fascinating to hear one accomplished professional praise another in their field.

All of the archival extras are ported over: a thorough, 15-minute interview with Donner from 2008; 666: The Omen Revealed, a 46-minute retrospective from 2000 featuring crew members along with religious experts to provide context; The Omen Revelations, which is essentially a streamlined version of 666, recycling much of its footage in 24 minutes; Curse or Coincidence, in which the crew recounts a variety of curious incidents that nearly derailed the production; an introduction by Donner; a deleted scene with commentary by Donner; an older interview with Seltzer, which features a lot of the same information as the new one; and an interview with Goldsmith about his score. There's also an appreciation of The Omen by filmmaker Wes Craven (A Nightmare on Elm Street), in which the master of horror waxes poetic about the influential picture for 20 minutes; Trailers from Hell trailer commentary by filmmaker Larry Cohen (The Stuff), who cites The Omen as one of his favorite movies; the trailer; TV spots; radio spots; and four image galleries: stills, behind-the-scenes, posters and lobby cards, and publicity.

Following the massive success of the first film, Fox fast-tracked a sequel, Damien: Omen II, to open in 1978. Having narrowly survived the events of The Omen, a 12-year-old Damien (Jonathan Scott-Taylor) now lives with his affluent uncle, Richard Thorn (William Holden, Sunset Blvd.), aunt, Ann (Lee Grant, In the Heat of the Night), and cousin, Mark (Lucas Donat), in Chicago. Damien is ostensibly a well-adjusted kid, unaware of who - or what - he is, but those who cross him wind up dead in freak accidents.

Omen II's plotting mirrors that of the first film, but the mystery aspect that made the original so effective is gone. The viewer knows from the start that Damien is, in fact, the antichrist, so they're left waiting for the characters to catch up. The plot dedicates an inordinate amount of time to Thorn's business enterprises, which is only vaguely paid of in the next installment when Damien rises to power. On the bright side, there are several admirably inventive deaths in the tradition of the first, from a bird attack that would make Alfred Hitchcock jealous to a visceral elevator bisection to a harrowing scene of a man trapped in a pond under ice.

Since Donner had moved on to Superman and Seltzer was either uninterested or not asked (depending on the source) to pen the sequel, a new creative team was employed. Stanley Mann (Firestarter, Conan the Destroyer) and Mike Hodges (Get Carter, Flash Gordon) wrote the script, with the latter set to direct. Hodges only shot for a few days, during which he quickly fell behind schedule, before being swiftly replaced by Don Taylor (Escape from the Planet of the Apes). Goldsmith returns to score with a worthy successor, retaining the signature sound while expanding it to incorporate electronics.

Leo McKern is the only returning cast member, reprising his role as archaeologist Carl Bugenhagen in the prologue. Peck's formidable presence is sorely missed, but Holden - who, incidentally, turned down the lead role in The Omen - and Grant bring some prestige to the production. Scott-Taylor is a convincing surrogate for Stephens, but the child acting leaves a bit to be desired. It's offset by a supporting cast that includes Lance Henriksen (Aliens), Lew Ayres (All Quiet on the Western Front), Sylvia Sidney (Beetlejuice), Allan Arbus (M*A*S*H), and Meshach Taylor (Mannequin).

Damien: Omen II's Blu-ray disc features new interviews with Grant, who is proud of the sequel and shares a funny anecdote about discovering her first wrinkle while filming; Foxworth, who was able to get to know Holden, one of his heroes, on their daily commute; and actress Elizabeth Sheppard, who proudly discusses working with Holden as well as Vincent Price (on The Tomb of Ligeia). In a separate featurette, Sheppard narrates a gallery of her personal photos from the shoot, offering a behind-the-scenes look at the bird attack sequence.

Since Omen II's mythology has little biblical foundation, Bosco's new commentary features even more tenuous tangents, but it affords him the opportunity to discuss the franchise more subjectively. An archival commentary with producer Harvey Bernhard proves to be a bit more informative. The disc also includes a vintage making-of featurette consisting of clips, interviews, and footage from the set, along with the trailer, a TV spot, a radio spot, and a still gallery.

The Omen trilogy came to a conclusion in 1981 with Omen III: The Final Conflict - although it proved not to be final after all. As prophesied, Damien (Sam Neill, Jurassic Park), now 33 - the same age as Jesus when he was crucified - has risen to political power. Following the U.S. ambassador to Great Britain’s ghastly suicide, Damien is appointed the position, which was once held by his adoptive father. The only true foe for the antichrist is, naturally, Christ himself. Rather than bringing about the apocalypse, as the franchise had been driving toward since the beginning, Damien attempts to prevent the second coming in a sanctimonious conclusion to the story arc.

While no successor could top the original Omen, its first sequel smartly embraced the gratuitous death scenes. For the third installment, however, director Graham Baker (Alien Nation) made a conscious effort to avoid them. Instead, he delivers inept monks trying to assassinate Damien with the Seven Daggers of Megiddo, while the antichrist’s legion of apostles murder newborn males who are the potential Christ child. Andrew Birkin's (Perfume: The Story of a Murderer) script leans further into religiosity at the expensive of the horror elements while interjecting silly mythology akin to Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers.

Omen III: The Final Conflict's Blu-ray disc features new interviews with Baker, who takes a truly retrospective look back on the film, comparing the society of today to that of when it was produced; Birkin, who hadn't seen The Omen when he first met for the gig and wasn't particularly impressed when he finally watched it; and production assistant Jeanne Ferber, who explains how she was among those polled by Bernhard to help choose the lead, with Neill selected unanimously.

For his final commentary in the set, Bosco is back to pointing out the film's connections to scripture, leading to a lengthy tirade comparing Christianity and Judaism. An archival track with Baker has a few nuggets of information among extended gaps of silence, but most of his points are addressed more concisely in the new interview. Special features are rounded out by the trailer, TV spots, and a still gallery.

Although The Omen’s main storyline continued with two more book sequels, Fox opted to use the familiar title for a made-for-television movie on their budding network in 1991. Although dubbed Omen IV: The Awakening, the film largely serves as a remake of the original film but with a female antichrist. After numerous failed attempts to get pregnant, politician Gene York (Michael Woods) and his wife, Karen (Faye Grant, V), adopt an orphan girl. Seven years later, Delia (Asia Vieira, A Home at the End of the World) becomes increasingly violent and manipulative, leaving a trail of bodies in her wake.

Similar to Omen II's production troubles, Omen IV started with Jorge Montesi (Turbulence 3: Heavy Metal) in the director's chair, but he was fire mid-shoot and replaced by Dominique Othenin-Girard (Halloween 5: The Revenge of Michael Myers). Writer Brian Taggert (Poltergeist III) keeps the basic structure of Seltzer's original script intact, but the details of each beat are altered and the death scenes are subdued for TV. In addition to gender-swapping the creepy kid, it's the mother who is proactive this time around.

Despite maintaining the general outline of The Omen, the plot is harder to believe this time around, stretching the required suspension of disbelief to include psychics that can read auras. The most ludicrous plot point comes in the form of a shoehorned connection to The Omen mythology. This "twist" canonically positions Omen IV as a sequel rather than a thinly-veiled remake, but it feels more like a low-budget knockoff than an official installment in the franchise.

Omen IV: The Awakening doesn't have any audio commentaries, but its Blu-ray debut includes a new interview with Taggert, who breaks down several of the major choices made in the script. It also contains The Omen Legacy, a feature-length documentary on the franchise that aired on TV in 2001. Narrated by Jack Palance (City Slickers), it finds cast and crew members (including a couple of folks who don't appear in any other special features) and religious figures (the Church of Satan’s high priestess among them) discussing all four films while playing up the alleged curse. The trailer and a still gallery are also included.

Amidst the onslaught of horror remakes that dominated the early 2000s, Fox shrewdly capitalized with The Omen in 2006 - on 6/6/06, to be exact. Director John Moore (Max Payne) offers slick production value and an inspired cast, but it feels wholly unnecessary considering how closely it follows the original script. Seltzer is the only credited writer, but it's unclear if his 40-year-old script was simply polished off or if he was involved in re-writes, as there are some subtle changes to contemporize it. While it fails to bring anything new to the table, it’s a stronger effort than Omen IV.

Liev Schreiber (Scream) and Julia Stiles (10 Things I Hate About You) star as the Thorns. Talented as they are, they lack the chemistry of Peck and Remick. Seamus Davey-Fitzpatrick is successfully creepy as the new Damien, while the role's originator, Harvey Stephens, makes a quick cameo. In a particularly motivated bit of stunt casting, Mia Farrow (Rosemary's Baby) plays the antichrist's new nanny. David Thewlis (Harry Potter) and Pete Postlethwaite (The Lost World: Jurassic Park) also have supporting roles.

The remake is the only Blu-ray in the set that doesn't offer any new special features. The existing extras cover a lot of ground, but it would’ve been interesting to hear the crew reflect back on it. Omenisms is a 37-minute documentary exploring the pressures of making a movie with a release date set in advance, even showing Moore losing his temper and yelling at a producer. It feels very of its time, with director Stephen French treating the piece like a hip art film, but it contains a lot of great material.

Moore, producer Glenn Williamson, and editor Dan Zimmermann participate in an audio commentary that's fairly informative but doesn't touch on many of the trials and tribulations showcased in Omenisms. There's also a featurette about Marco Beltrami (Scream) recording his score at the legendary Abbey Road Studio; Revelation 666, a cheesy TV special tracing the history, interpretation, and theories of 666; unrated, extended scenes, including a longer version of the ending; and theatrical trailers.

While The Exorcist remains the be-all and end-all of occult horror, The Omen franchise as a whole is more consistent. The first three Omen films comprise a cohesive trilogy, while Part IV and the remake each offer a fresh, if flawed, perspective on the material. Between the movies, commentaries, interviews, and featurettes, The Omen Collection contains over 30 hours of content, making it an unbelievable value and a must-have for any horror collector.

The Omen Collection is available now on Blu-ray via Scream Factory.

#the omen #gregory peck #damien: omen ii #omen iii: the final conflict #omen iv: the awakening #mia farrow #scream factory #dvd #gift #review #article #damien thorn #liev schreiber #julia stiles #lance henriksen #lee remick #william holden

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ghostbustermelanieking · 6 years ago

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phantom weights chapter six

one, two, three, four, five

season 11, post my struggle iv. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: In the wake of their second encounter, Mulder, Scully, and Jackson reconnect (both by accident and on purpose.)

---

Mulder barely left Scully's side after the trip to the beach. They were both hyper aware of her approaching due date, and she knew how deeply Mulder had been wounded by what Jackson said. Knew how terrified he was of not being there for her, of missing the birth of his child again. He was nervous, and she was nervous, and while the constant attention felt a little stifling at times, she felt a bit relieved because of it. She wanted him to be there; she didn't know if she could do this without him. Every day felt like a tick on the clock, getting closer and closer to the day they'd be parents again. It was terrifying and exciting all at once.

(They didn't hear from Jackson after they got home. They hadn't expected to, but it still hurt. Every single minute of it hurt.)

There was nothing left to do, it seemed, in the baby's room, but Scully still felt like it was unfinished. She still spent a lot of time in there, when she had the energy, checking through the things they'd bought, the security of the crib, or folding and refolding the clothes and the baby blanket Tara had mailed from Germany. She felt restless, impatient and ready for the next part to begin. She wanted the baby to be here and be safe; she couldn't stand the fear that something bad would come from all of this. That the baby wouldn't be okay. She was uncomfortable and sick of pregnancy, of course, but she also just wanted a guarantee that this wouldn't end badly. She wanted to meet her daughter (because she really did think it might be a daughter), and she wanted to do it right now.

Mulder kept urging her to relax, to lie down. Kept offering to fold things for her, or get her things. She kept refusing. It wasn't about getting it done, it was about distractions. She sensed he was thinking similarly. He fussed over her most of the time, and when she waved him off, he turned to books, to extensive research on some cryptid or another, to outlining his novel (which he'd written in odd, well written chunks since they'd been fired). But he always turned back to fussing with a mix of determined love and worry. It was annoying and endearing all at once, and she loved him desperately for it. It was hard not to burst into tears every time she remembered the first pregnancy, and how little he'd been there, and how devoted he was now. (It was hard not to burst into tears when remembering William at all.)

Despite everything, despite the hurtful but completely justifiable things that Jackson had said, she still missed him desperately. Missed her son, her angry, furious son. Her grieving son who read books about black holes and created fictional monsters, who could create images with his mind and had killed men in self defense, who had lunch with her and asked questions about their past and made jokes with them, who asked about his sibling in perhaps the gentlest voice she'd heard from him. He was her baby, and she loved getting to know him, loved their odd little interactions (awkward as they may have been), and she missed him. Even though she was upset with him for the things he'd said to Mulder. (She deserved all of those things, but not Mulder. It was her fault, not his; he hadn't wanted to leave.) She missed him and she wanted him to come back. She'd told herself about a million times that teenagers were supposed to fight with their parents, supposed to say cruel and angry things—God knows that she had. She wasn't resentful. She wanted him to come home, and she was terrified that he never would.

And so she found distractions. It wasn't hard to get lost in other worries on top of the ones about Jackson's, with her due date so soon. She had weekly doctor appointments to check on her progress, and everything had been good so far. Aside from the expected discomforts and pains that came from the third trimester, she felt fine; no signs that made her nerves and anxiety worse. But that didn't do much to reassure her. She was still terrified.

They had a C-section scheduled. It wasn't exactly Scully's favorite option, considering the recovery, but considering the alternatives and risks involved, it seemed to be the safest option. And considering how the last birth had gone, she liked the reassurance that she would give birth in a hospital, with anesthesia and doctors and no cultists come to watch her give birth or threaten to take the baby. (She'd had many nightmares about that.) And Mulder, who'd sworn again and again that he wouldn't leave them. (He still felt so guilty about that. He'd apologized a thousand times, starting with the night William had been born, the three of them sitting together on the helicopter. He had promised multiple times that he would be with her, stay with her, wouldn't leave her side.) They had things planned, and she knew no matter what that she'd be in a hospital and Mulder would be with her ("You're getting to a hospital if I have to fight my way through a horde of zombies or something," he'd joked earlier, and she said, "Let's not plan on that, please"), but the scheduled part was unpredictable. As a doctor, she knew that better than anyone. She also knew the risks of the baby coming earlier.

Two weeks out from her due date, she started to feel contractions. She assumed at first that they were just Braxton Hicks, but they didn't go away. It wasn't a surprise when her water finally broke; she had known that the baby was coming soon for a few days. She had felt her coming, known she was ready.

---

Mulder was nervous on the way out to the car and trying his damndest not to show it. Scully had seen the panic flash across his eyes when she announced, in a voice so steady that it scared her (How the hell could she be calm at a time like this? Was she in shock?), that she was in labor. Panic that had morphed into something like gentle excitement, but panic that hadn't quite faded. He'd gone to her first, engulfing her in his arms, and then to the packed bag, and then to the car keys, fumbling with the both of them in one hand so he could keep the other on her back. He dropped the keys three times on the way to the car, apologizing every time. He kissed her forehead several times as he helped her into the car seat, smoothing her hair away from her face. "It's going to be okay," he told her, and she wasn't sure whether or not he believed it. But still, he smiled at her softly before rounding the car to get into the driver's seat.

She gasped as another contraction hit, breathing the way they had practiced in Lamaze through her teeth. "It's okay," Mulder said again as he started the car, and she shut her eyes and hoped that it would be. She didn't feel calm anymore.

"Mulder," she whispered as they began the long drive up the driveway, "is it too soon? Do you think it's too soon?"

She didn't think he knew the answer, but he reached for her hand anyway and let her squeeze tight. "I think it'll be okay," he said softly. "I-I think that she just couldn't wait to meet you."

She gasped out a brief little laugh, her eyes squeezing shut as she huffed out breaths. She could feel her heart pounding. As Mulder stopped the car to open the gate, she put a hand to her stomach and thought fiercely, It's going to be okay, baby. It's going to be okay.

---

The hospital was a short drive, luckily, and so they got there in good time, though Mulder felt as if it lasted forever. He was terrified and trying not to let Scully see it, remembering the trauma of the last time, the dank house in Georgia, Scully's franticness and refusal to let anyone touch William, everything he'd missed. He wanted more than anything to meet the baby, for her to be here, but he was terrified of losing them, Scully or the baby or both of them. He couldn't shake the fear.

Scully seized his arm as soon as he came around to get her out of the car, fingers clenched tight, and didn't let go. Not when they got into the emergency room, not when she lowered herself into a wheelchair, him trying to steady her as she went. She let go only briefly, while she changed into a hospital gown and climbed into the hospital bed, and then she grasped for him again. He took her hand, didn't complain when she squeezed so hard that the bones ached. He hated that he wasn't there before to let her crush his hand, hated that he would ever think of leaving her and his son alone like that. He loathed himself for it nearly every day.

“Don't leave us,” Scully hissed like she'd read his mind, her voice breaking off in a whimper, and Mulder rubbed a quivering thumb over the top of her hand, kissed the back of it. “I won't, I won't,” he promised, pressing his cheek to the side of her head, and he meant it. He would never. Not for a second.

She turned her head, pressing her face into his arm, and he held tight. “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you so much, Mulder. No matter what happens…”

“I know I love you, too,” he whispered back, stroking her hair with the flat of his thumb, his arms around her shoulders. He wouldn't let anything happen to her, to either of them. “It's gonna be okay, Scully," he whispered, and she nodded, jaw clenched to keep her chin from trembling. He wouldn't leave her. He stood beside the bed and held her hand in his.

---

The doctor, the same friend of Scully's who'd originally confirmed the pregnancy, seemed optimistic. "There are still risks involved, of course, but I see no reason why things shouldn't run smoothly, and the two of you shouldn't be perfectly healthy," she said reassuringly. "I think, considering how far along you are, that it'd be better to go with a natural birth rather than a C-section."

Scully, breathing through clenched teeth, nodded. "How far along am I?"

"About seven centimeters, and moving quickly," said the doctor.

She nodded in understanding. She was still clutching tight to Mulder's hand. Mulder, who was sitting beside her, his face white with nervousness. "I… I want my husband with me," she said, stern even through her pained breaths. "The whole time."

The doctor looked surprised. "Of course, Dana."

She shut her eyes with relief. She felt Mulder lift her hand and kiss her knuckles.

She didn't know that she could do this. She'd done it before, but she didn't know that she could do it again. She kept thinking about how things went last time, giving birth without Mulder, with all those people there, and she'd lost them both and found them again, but she was so scared it would happen again.

But then there was Mulder's voice in her ear, telling her it was going to be okay. He was talking about their daughter, telling Scully that she was coming, and she was going to be perfect, and he couldn't wait to meet her. And the doctor seemed optimistic—not overly optimistic, but still optimistic, and Scully trusted her. She trusted her judgement.

And then there was her daughter. Her baby, who she already felt like she knew. She could feel her, she knew she was ready. And she had the tiniest feeling—a lingering hope strengthening gradually—that it was all going to be okay. She already knew that her daughter was a fighter.

---

Jackson had been having nightmares, irregularly but frequently, since that night at the beach house.

It wasn't an abnormal thing to happen, certainly—he had been having nightmares for months now—but they were always a little bit different now. He usually dreamed of the gunshots and his parents' blank eyes, his mother's last desperate scream. Of the people he'd killed, and the people he couldn't save, and the fucking bullet landing right between his eyes. Now it was all of that, but it was mixed with the screen door slamming behind him at that house in Delaware and hearing Mulder and Dana trying not to cry. It was seeing that shock and hurt on their faces. It was hearing a gunshot and finding them, bloody and limp on the floor of that kitchen beside his parents, their eyes staring accusingly at him, and he knew it was his fault, and that they thought he hated him. It was dreaming that, after everything, they did take the baby.

He didn't hate Mulder and Scully. He didn't. But he also hadn't been exactly lying when he said all of those things. A part of him meant it. He hadn't planned to say it that way—it was the kind of thing that you never, ever say out loud; even an asshole like him knew that—but it wasn't as if it had come out of nowhere. It was the things he'd been thinking since he was a kid, since he had that seizure and those shared visions when he was fifteen, since he found out Dana was pregnant again. It was every hurt feeling and resentful thought he'd ever had towards Ginger spilling over his lips, and he hadn't, he hadn't meant to hurt them. Not like that. It was every fight he'd ever had with his parents but worse, and he'd done it to save them, but what if it didn't work? What if it didn't fucking work? He had nightmares about them dead on the living room floor and woke up shaking.

It didn't help that he had almost no distractions. He'd cut off the streaming services and the WiFi in an attempt to be practical, and without cable, all he had to watch were mindless DVDs. He could go to the library and use the free WiFi, but he felt too paranoid in public, his skin crawling, constantly glancing over his shoulder. He started taking out books from the library—in big stacks, the way he'd done when he was a kid—but that didn't work, either. It was too quiet to read; the silence was deafening and shook him to the core. He didn't have any real friends; he'd distanced himself from his weed-smoking buddies, and he knew there wasn't much substance in those relationships, anyway. They didn't know a thing about him, and they didn't care to find out. And he couldn't get close; he couldn't expose them to the danger that Mulder and Dana were in. (Had been in. He didn't know anymore.) He didn't have Sarah, and he didn't have anyone else. Not his parents, not his other family. Not even his awkward birth parents. All he could do was disappear into himself, and his suffocating memories and nightmares.

Weirdly enough, driving was one of the things that helped. It wasn't magic or some shit like that, but it was monotonous and focused enough that Jackson could be in a state of unthinking. And so he drove, as much as he could afford it. Circled Richmond and back again. Drove up and down the East Coast when he had a few days off. Ran when he couldn't drive, but it wasn't quite the same. There was something freeing about driving, taking the road back piece by piece. Running without actually running, having the power to get away. He drove like he did in the months after leaving Norfolk, pedal to the metal, gazing over his shoulder with a lazy defiance.

He got a record four days off one weekend in September, and by way of celebration, he took off to the north, tearing through the giant-ass state of Virginia, speeding past DC, and heading up to New England. Part of him wanted to see how far he could go, and part of him just wanted to stay on the road as long as possible. It was still hot as hell, too hot for fucking September, and he kept the windows down, the air blowing through the car and mussing his unbrushed hair. He needed a haircut. He could still his mother's soft voice, her lilting Midwest accent in his head: You need a haircut, honey. Chiding, tugging at his bangs gently. Kissing him on the head when he wouldn't swat her away. He wished he had never, ever swatted her away, and it hurt to remember, and he tried not to. But they kept slipping in, his parents. Everyone did: he saw signs for New York and thought of the trip there that he and Sarah wanted to take after graduation, saw signs for Atlantic City and remembered the stupidly soft t-shirt Bri bought him when she went on vacation there. Thought of his Aunt Ursula in Pennsylvania, where she lived, and his family's trip to Cape Cod one summer. Heard his father critique his driving, heard his mother sing along to songs on the radio.

Mulder and Ginger were at the back of his mind, too. He didn't look for them anymore, didn't try to hear them—he hadn't let himself since that night, no sense in driving the knife in fucking harder, Jesus Christ—but sometimes he got scraps. Little involuntary scraps of thought, of their voices in his head: Mulder humming while he cooked dinner, or Scully folding baby clothes in quivering hands, or Mulder's hand feeling the baby kick, or Scully in his room in the middle of the night, holding that bunny with a tentative sort of embarrassment…

He always, always pushed it away. He had to, he was done, it was for their own good, and if he felt too guilty, he might go back…

But he couldn't control when it came. That was one thing he couldn't do.

That was why he heard it, that night. The night he was parked out in some sprawling field in Maine, lying on the hood of his car and looking at the stars. He was hovering on the edge of sleep and thinking he was fucking insane if he fell asleep out here, when he felt it wash over him like a wave, overtaking him. Fear. And it wasn't his.

It was so strong, it made him shoot up, slipping awkwardly down the slope of the car hood, his heart pounding. It was fear, and it wasn't his, but it was someone close to him, and so he reached out, because he had to know what it was.

The words bulleted through his brain, so hard he slipped and fell off the car, landing on his butt in the grass. Mulder's voice, tight and desperate: Please, please, please don't do this.

"Mulder?" Jackson blurted involuntarily, before he remembered that Mulder couldn't hear him. His chest was tight, his heart pounding; his head ached like someone was driving a fucking spike through it. (What was it, what the fuck was happening, had they come for Mulder? Had what he'd said done fucking nothing to protect them?) He blinked, spots across his vision, his forehead throbbing, and tried again silently: Mulder?

He could feel the fear, could practically feel the pounding of Mulder's heart. Could feel the tears in Mulder's eyes, or maybe that was his own; the emotions were pouring through him, so powerful it nearly pinned him to the ground. His head felt like it was splitting in two. He heard a wrenched, muted, Oh, god.

Mulder! Jackson thought, desperately, his fingers digging hard into the grass and dirt. He couldn't breathe, his chest was weighed down, he was gasping like a fish. Mulder, it's Jackson. It's… it's your son. Shit. Fucking hell. He shut his eyes.

Who are they what are they doing here… what if they're here for her what if it goes like last time, fuck, I can't do this, I can't lose her…

Was it Dana? Jackson was biting his lip, and he didn't know it until he felt the tang of blood in his mouth, and he gasped. What is it, what's wrong with Dana? he tried, but Mulder couldn't hear.

The thoughts came flooding through, in a muddled mess: She's in pain and I can't help her, oh god I can't help, Scully I'm so sorry, I'm going to stay right with you the whole time I swear but what if it's not enough… Fuck fuck I can't do this, what if something goes wrong, but I don't want her to know I'm upset, but Jesus Christ if I lose them… I love them so much… who are they are they nurses… if anyone lays a fucking hand on my wife or my daughter… oh god is she okay is she okay Scully please please don't leave me…

A sharp pain hit Jackson, and he rolled abruptly on his side. "Fuck," he hissed out through his teeth, and he was reaching out again: Mulder? Mulder? Dana, are you there? Tears were wet on his face, and he couldn't breathe. The baby was coming, he knew that immediately. But what the fuck was going on? Were they in danger, was someone coming for them or the baby? Was Dana dying, was the baby dying? Were they okay? Were they okay, were they okay? Had he fucking failed again? He didn't meant to hurt them this way, but he had, and oh god, if they died now, they'd never know…

He dug his fingers into the ground and tried again, his silent voice pleading as tears dried on his face. Dana? Mulder? Are you there? Are you there? His head fell forward, his cheek against the grass. Ginger? he tried, and he felt like a child again. It's… it's William. Jackson Are you there?

Silence. Only silence. He reached and couldn't find them. Couldn't find his sister. Maybe it was a coincidence, a fluke, he couldn't always find people. But maybe it wasn't.

---

Their daughter was born in a heartbeat moment. One second she wasn't there, and the next she was.

Scully didn't remember much from the moments after—fatigued and feeling faint with pain—but there was one thing she'd never forget: the sound of her daughter's first healthy cry. The image of the tiny baby being held up before her. She would hold onto it for as long as she lived.

"It's a girl," the nurse said cheerfully. You were right, Mulder, Scully tried to say, but her lips were numb. Her head was lolled back against the pillow, but she didn't take her eyes off her daughter. She lifted her arms, limp, to reach for her.

The nurse lay her, her wriggling daughter, onto Scully's chest. The weight was welcome. She was so small, and Scully loved her immediately.

"Oh, honey," Mulder whispered, his voice breaking. He reached down with a trembling hand to cup the back of their daughter's head. "Honey."

Scully had a gentle hand on her daughter's back. She leaned down to press her lips to her dark, downy head, whispering, "Hi. Hi, baby."

The baby was wailing, her tiny hands grasping for purchase, her eyes big and blue, like her mother's, like Missy's. Like Emily's, and like William's when he'd been little. She met her daughter's eyes as she stroked the top of her head, and she could feel the weight of it bearing on her chest, cinching it tight. She kissed her baby's hair again and whispered, "Hi, Lily."

She hadn't dared to call her that out loud yet, but she'd known for a while now. Ever since Jackson had suggested it. That had been her silent name for a long time now.

Mulder was crouched beside them, his hand on Scully's shoulder and his eyes on Lily. Scully raised her chin to look at him, and he nodded immediately, in total, silent agreement. He smiled, shaky through his tears.

He'd been crying since her labor started, in fear or in empathy or probably both. He'd clutched at her hand almost as hard as she'd clutched his. He'd tensed every time someone new entered the room, his arms protective around her shoulder. At one point, she'd heard him whisper, "Please, Scully, please…" when she'd cried out. He was as afraid as she'd been.

Now, he accepted the nurse's offer to cut the cord with shaking hands. Scully lay woozily back against the pillows as the nurses gave Lily to her father, swallowed up in his arms. The thought came to her involuntarily: Mulder holding William for the first time. That same look of awe on his face. Her eyes filled with tears. She reached for them and felt Lily's little hand curl around her finger.

---

Jackson woke up curled up on the field. No long limp or in pain, the energy leaking back into him. He felt hungover, but awake. Awake and sure of what he had to do.

He stumbled jelly-like, almost without thinking about it, to the door of his car and yanked it open. Climbed in immediately and started it.

He had to get to Farrs Corner. He had to make sure they were okay, if he wasn't already too late.

---

The day before, he'd been so fucking scared. So scared he honestly couldn't believe it now, with his daughter nestled cozily in his arms and his wife sleeping beside him. But he had been. Seeing Scully in pain like that, remembering how badly it had gone before and the potential for it to go badly now… Every cry of pain had cut him to the core, made him feel helpless; every nurse coming in and out of the room had seemed like someone sent to hurt them, to take Scully and Lily away from him. He hadn't known what to do, how to help, how to make sure he'd never have to live a day without either of them. He knew now that the fears were irrational, but it had all seemed so real. After everything with William, he couldn't imagine going through that again.

But Scully was okay. She was exhausted, and still in pain, but she was okay, and she was going to be okay. She was asleep now, propped up on pillows, her hair spread across the pillow. And he was holding their daughter, curled up against his chest. Skin to skin, the nurses had suggested. He was keeping her warm.

She was tiny with a shock of dark hair and the lightest dusting of freckles. Mulder thought she looked like Samantha when she was born, the same dark hair and the shape of her nose. But her eyes were as blue as Scully's, and she had her mother's freckles, and she was here, and whole, and she and Scully were both fine. They were both fine, and Mulder officially wanted to never leave either of them ever again.

He held their daughter, his hand cupping her small head. She yawned, a quiet sound, and he stroked her forehead with one finger, gently. He ran the finger down her arm, and she grabbed onto it with her entire hand, her own tiny fingers. Tears welled involuntarily in his eyes, and he leaned forward to press a light kiss to her forehead. “Hey, kiddo,” he whispered, so only she could hear. “Hey, baby. You made it. You're here.”

Lily looked up at him with a touch of—he swore it—curiosity in her eyes, and he grinned. “I'm your dad,” he said softly. "I'm your dad."

---

They headed home with the baby by the next night. Scully knew she could've stayed at least an extra day, but the birth had gone smoothly, considering the risks. She and the baby were in good health. And besides that, she had stayed in the hospital way too many times for her own liking; she was content not to stay as a patient a minute longer than she needed to. There was the argument that she and Mulder could rest while the baby was taken care of, but she knew that they were both nervous about the possibility of people coming for her. They'd feel better if they were the ones taking care of her, if they could keep her in sight; neither of them preferred letting strangers take care of her. It seemed exceedingly better to just head back home.

The act of it was a little overwhelming for them both, Scully could tell. Last time, it had just been her and her mother, flying back from Georgia, her anxiety heightened and fueling into a refusal to let William out of her sight. She'd missed Mulder horribly throughout the whole trip, her only comfort being his promise that he would come and see them as soon as they'd gotten home. He hadn't been there to bring William home for the first time.

Now they were both here, and it wasn't as scary as it had been before—she had to keep reminding herself that everything was fine to their knowledge, that they encountered anyone dangerous so far—but it still felt monumental. Mulder drove as carefully as he had on the way to the hospital, his hands steadier on the wheel, looking over his shoulder in increments at the baby. Scully was sitting in the back with Lily, an absent hand on the edge of the car seat. She couldn't take her eyes off of her, didn't want to. She thought she could spend the rest of her life like this, just sitting with her daughter.

She was so small and quiet; Scully knew it had only been a day, but she thought that Lily might be the quietest baby she had ever seen. She didn't look much like William did when he was this age, and the thought didn't hurt Scully as much as it once would have. She had hair, for one thing, dark downy hair, and she was littler than William had been. She was restless, kicking at the blanket Mulder wrapped her in with her little socked feet. Scully thought she looked a little like the old black and white pictures she’d seen of her mother as an infant, but Mulder insisted she looked like Samantha. (They'd been bickering mildly about who Lily looked like since yesterday; they were both saying she looked like the other. But it was easy to see the face of loved ones in their daughter; she understood the impulse as well as anything. They'd both lost so many people. But she did look like Mulder. Scully could see him in her face.)

Lily was quiet on the drive home, focused on trying to jam her fist in her mouth. "She's almost got it," Mulder said with a sort of quiet, amused affection, looking at them in the rearview mirror.

Scully chuckled. "This one is on you," she told him seriously, nudging Lily's fist open with the tip of one finger. "All these years of sticking random evidence in your mouth…"

Lily yawned, kicking her feet again. "I'll tell her not to eat the random white specks on the ground," Mulder said, looking over his shoulder as they stopped at a light and smiling.

Mulder was in love with the baby as much as she was, maybe even to a greater extent. He'd kept his promise: he hadn't left their side in the hospital, either of theirs. While Scully slept in the hospital, exhausted, he had crept to the nursery to look at their daughter through the window before bringing her back to the room to do skin-to-skin at the nurse's direction. “I didn't want to leave her alone,” he'd said as they left the hospital. “I didn't want to leave either of you alone.” The sight of the two of them together was enough to make Scully cry, remembering what little time they'd all spent together the first time. She could still see him in the back of her mind, seventeen years younger and trying to rock William back to sleep.

(Thinking of William—Jackson—made her wince, involuntarily, because the things he'd said were still solidly lodged in her mind. You kept me around for about nine months before you got tired of me and gave me up for adoption. You never came looking for me. It stung, made her chest tighten and clench like a vice. She missed him so much, and she wanted to tell him she was sorry, but the memories still hurt like hell. She felt the need to reassure Lily and promise her that she would never, ever do that to her, but she felt like it was a betrayal of her son. She blinked back tears rapidly and leaned down to press a kiss to her daughter's forehead.)

Mulder carried Lily into the house. Scully insisted; she wanted him to experience every single moment he had missed out on.

---

Jackson drove all day to get back to Farrs Corner. He bought a supply of Monster energy drinks and snacks that he piled in the passenger seat so he could drive through without stopping. He had to get there, he had to get there. He pissed on the side of the road to save time, blinked blearily at the road and held onto the steering wheel hard. There wasn't any choice. All he could hope for was that he wouldn't be too late this time, that he wouldn't be such a fuck-up. That he could give his sister the life he never had.

New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut. New York, New Jersey, Philadelphia. He kept reaching out, searching for Dana and Mulder, and finding nothing. His mind was racing with insane scenarios, with the images from his nightmares. He kept seeing his parents, hearing the rustle of the body bags as they were zipped up, and seeing Mulder and Scully in their face, and it was too hard. He pounded the steering wheel with his palms, he blasted the radio at full volume, he screamed under the pounding sound of the radio. He was so fucking frustrated, he should've bought a plane ticket but he had no money. He drove and drove and drove. Maryland, and finally Virginia. The sun had sunk low below the horizon, and Jackson felt half-dead. But he couldn't stop. He could not stop.

He kept hearing Mulder's frightened voice in his head. Kept replaying that night in the beach, the way Mulder had yanked back like he had slapped him, the way Scully had insisted, "That's not true." They'd both been crying when he'd left, and now they'd never know… He'd had a fight with his parents the day before they died, and they'd been okay right before, he didn't think his parents were still mad at him when it happened. But he'd always hate himself for not apologizing. He'd said a lot of horrible things to them, told him he hated them, and he hadn't, he hadn't, but he'd never be able to tell them. And he didn't know what the hell he wanted to tell them, but he wanted the chance to do it. He couldn't let them die or get hurt because of him. He had a sister, he had two sisters, and one of them was gone, but he might have the chance to help one of them. He might still be able to save his baby sister.

He drove, foot hard on the gas. He drove to their house, because he wasn't sure where else they would be. If nothing else, it was a place to start, a place to possibly reestablish a connection so he could find them somewhere else.

It took longer than he would've liked to reach their stupid little country house, following those winding, remote roads. Or maybe it was just because he'd been driving all day. He hated their gate, hated that he had to get out and drag it out of the way, and the fact that it was closed sent a flurry of questions through his mind. (Were there assassins just kind enough to close the gate after themselves so that no one would guess they'd been here? This indicated that Mulder and Dana maybe hadn't left in a hurry. But he still didn't know whether or not there was danger from assassins or abductors, or just from a medical issue; they could've gone to the hospital and been followed there. He still had no idea.) He followed the driveway to the end, where he found their car parked neatly adjacent to the porch.

Jackson's breath faltered as it whooshed out of him, as he stepped on the brake and threw the car into Park. What the fuck? What the fuck was going on? He could feel the energy, the fight leaching out of him in one fell swoop; he was exhausted, but he couldn't stop now. He fumbled for the door handle and found it, stumbled outside, his feet slipping on the grass. As he shut the door behind him, he heard a baby crying.

He ran up the steps before faltering at the door, his mind racing. Had he been wrong? Was nothing wrong at all, were they perfectly okay? He wasn't sure anymore, but he knew he had to know, and so he reached for the door handle and yanked it open.

Dana was sitting on the couch, cradling what kinda looked like a bundle of blankets, rocking back and forth and shushing quietly. But when Jackson shoved the screen open and it hit the opposite wall with a cacophonous bang, she tensed, her head shooting him and one hand pressing protectively over the bundle. No, not a fucking bundle; the baby. His sister, still crying, possibly startled at the loud sound. Dana's eyes were wide, like she was afraid, but she seemed to relax at the sight of him, only a little bit. "Jackson?" she asked, and her voice was full of disbelief.

He nodded. He was stiff and frozen, taking the situation in. Dana looked fine. She was pale and clearly tired, bags under her eyes, but she looked just fine. She'd loosened her grip on the baby, stopped shielding her head, and Jackson could see her a little better. The baby looked fine, too, red-faced and wailing with a shock of dark hair. Dana's eyes darted down to her, and she began rocking back and forth again, shushing her. "I'm sorry…" she said to Jackson, not looking at him. "We're still a work in progress here."

Jackson's mind was still faltering; he wasn't exactly sure what the hell was going on. His heart was thudding dully, he couldn't catch his breath. He could still hear the echoes of Mulder's panic bouncing around his skull, but now he was wondering if maybe he'd heard wrong. People had gotten in his head before and manipulated him, that smoking fucker had for most of his life… Was it really possible that they could both be okay?

"This is Lily," Dana said suddenly. The baby's wails had subsided a bit, turned mostly to sniffling, and Dana held her close. "Your sister," she added quietly, like she might regret it.

It hit him suddenly, almost took his breath away: they'd used his name. The name he suggested. His sister.

He was trembling, and he took a step inside the house, letting the screen door whap shut behind him. He bunched his hands into fists, took a breath and blurted, "You're okay? Y-you and the baby, you're…" He couldn't finish. He was still seeing the nightmare images, he still didn't know what had happened.

"We're just fine," Ginger said, and she smiled absently when she said it. Lily had gone quiet, chewing on her hand with her head lolling against her mother's shoulder. "It was an easier birth than I expected… She's a little early, but she's a strong one. She's gonna be fine."

"A-and Mulder?" he managed. "Mulder's okay?"

She nodded, her forehead furrowing with confusion. "He's just fine… Sweetie, are you okay?" she asked, and then winced, as if she hadn't meant to say that.

Jackson nodded. He was suddenly exhausted, almost faint. "I… I drove a lot today," he said pathetically.

Worry immediately passed over her face, and she said, "Sit down. Get some rest, okay?" He went for the chair, sinking into it like a rock in water. "I… If you don't mind holding the baby, I can get you something to drink…"

"No," he said quickly, and he didn't know if it was because he didn't want to hold the baby or because he didn't think that Dana should be doing a damn thing for him, considering. "No, you… don't need to get anything for me. I'm okay." He admittedly didn't know shit about giving birth, or anything remotely related, but he at least knew that it hurt like hell. Dana probably needed to rest.

She looked like she didn't believe him, but the baby started to fuss again, and she started to shush her again, rocking her. "It's okay," she whispered, and the words hit Jackson like a ton of bricks. He wasn't sure he believed her, but she still said it again, soothing the baby: "It's okay."

Jackson heard a familiar clomping on the stairs, and Mulder was appearing with a blanket and a plastic tube of something. "I've got the—" he began, and then stopped in his tracks when he saw Jackson. Silent for a moment, and then he was saying, "Hi, Jack," somehow too quickly and too slow all at once.

"Hi, Mulder," Jackson replied huskily, looking down at his dirty sneakers. He was suddenly horrible embarrassed, feeling like a fucking idiot. He'd come running all this way for nothing, when he was probably the last person they wanted to see, and he could be putting them in more fucking danger by being here. The baby, too. Lily. And all because he'd misheard some of Mulder's anxiety or something. Had Mulder even known that he could hear him? Had he wanted him to come? He didn't know how to ask these things.

"I—" Mulder faltered, his breath shaky. "It's really good to see you, Jackson," he said, his voice breaking a little. "Really good."

They hadn't thought he would come back, he realized. And he hadn't meant to.

Dana broke the silence. "I think someone needs a change," she said, breaking off into a yawn.

"Here, I've got her." Jackson looked up in time to see Mulder scooping up Lily, whispering, "There's my girl." The baby was still crying, her little face turning red. "You should go get some sleep, honey," he said softly, holding the baby against his shoulder. "You're exhausted."

Dana yawned, getting to her feet. "I'm sure I'll be up in a couple of hours," she said softly. "I… I'm sorry things are so hectic, Jackson… It might be kind of noisy tonight, but, uh, make yourself comfortable… I think there's some lasagna left on the kitchen…" She picked up the plastic tube and the blanket that Mulder had left on the table.

"That's okay," Jackson said, wishing he was anywhere else at the moment. "Uh, sleep well."

Dana retreated to the stairs, Mulder on her tail, whispering and humming to the baby. His sister. Fuck.

Jackson let his head fall forward into his hands. He had no idea what the hell to do next; he barely even knew how to move.

---

Everything since they’d left Jackson in the living room seemed foggy. Scully could barely remembering walking upstairs, showering, changing clothes. She’d fed Lily in bed, exhaustion tugging at her like a tether, and now she and Mulder were lying with Lily on a blanket between them. She was asleep, her fist in her mouth, lying on her back. Scully knew she should probably be in her own crib, but she felt the same need that Mulder did to keep her close. She wanted them to be together. She was so sleepy, but she caught Lily’s wayward foot in her hand and held it gently. “We should probably put her down in a minute,” she murmured.

“Okay,” Mulder whispered. His hand was on Lily’s stomach, feeling the rise and fall; he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. “I’ll put her down in a minute.”

Scully shut her eyes, rubbing a thumb over the fine top of the baby’s foot, feeling each of her toes. Ten years doing work in the pediatric ward, and she was still marveling over her baby, the fact that she'd brought a real person into the world. She kissed the top of Lily's foot, and a memory came unbidden of her doing the very same thing, with William.

“And maybe… maybe we should go check on Jackson,” she mumbled, unable to forget their son, the erratic way he’d acted when he’d arrived, the way he’d said he’d driven a lot. She was worried about him. She'd been worried for months.

“I’ll take care of it, honey,” Mulder whispered, reaching out to cup the side of his face. His palms were pleasantly warm. “You sleep.”

She murmured her assent and felt his thumb moving against her cheek. She stroked the bottom of Lily’s foot through her sock. She was thinking about the moment that Jackson had burst through the door, the emotions swirling in his eyes—something like fear. She was remembering the moment she’d slipped up and called him sweetie, the way she’d mentally chided herself: Don’t, don’t push him, he doesn’t see you as his mother, you’re not really his mother… But a part of her always would be. She was replaying their conversation in her head, and all of a sudden, she just knew. She said, “He’s not going to be there in the morning, is he.” It wasn't a question. She knew it would happen; she was trying to find a way to make peace with it.

Mulder took an unsteady breath in time with the baby. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “I wish I did.”

Her hand moved to rest over Mulder’s, on top of Lily’s stomach, soothed by the rise and fall, and she took a sharp breath of her own. “I… I’ve missed him so much,” she whispered. “So, so much.”

“I know.” Mulder leaned forward, just a little, and she could feel him kiss her forehead. “So have I.”

There didn’t seem to be any more to say after that. She was really so tired, and she didn’t know if her son would be there in the morning, and she didn’t want him to leave, but she couldn’t ask him to stay. Mulder took her hand and squeezed it close before letting go, and she could hear him getting to his feet. She managed to open her eyes long enough to kiss her daughter good night—whispered I love you so much—and then she was out, sleeping like the dead until the baby’s cries would wake her up again.

---

Jackson fell asleep without really meaning to. He’d just gone to the kitchen to get some of the lasagna that Dana had mentioned and gone upstairs for some privacy. The next thing he knew, he was waking up on top of the covers with a greasy fork stuck to the comforter and leaving bright orange stains behind. It was dark outside, very early in the morning. He had a phantom memory of the baby crying, but the house was silent now.

He sat up immediately, gathering his bowl and his fork and leaving them on the bedside table. One thing was apparent, and that was that he needed to go right now. Now, while they were asleep, and no later. He had no idea what the hell he’d heard from Mulder, but he figured that it must’ve been a misunderstanding, or an overreaction, or maybe both. But they didn’t seem to be in danger. And there was always the possibility that he himself was putting them in danger by being here. Mulder and Dana and the kid. He’d figure it all out later, but at the moment, he needed to go. He needed space to think, to breathe.

He stepped on the floor, realizing that he still had his shoes on, and found his keys in his pocket. For a brief moment, it seemed as if his phone was missing, but he found that tangled in the comforter where he’d mussed it up. He grabbed it and shoved it in his pocket. After a brief mental checklist, he figured he didn’t have anything in the house. He slipped out of the room, his shoes creaking softly on the floorboards, and headed for the stairs.

His foot had just hit the top step when he felt it: the tiniest little nudge in his mind. A push, the push back of another mind. It was a bit of an unfamiliar feeling, but recognizable; he’d felt it before with Ginger, when he could hear her, when she could hear him back. He didn't feel that a lot. And that was when he knew.

Jackson turned away from the stairs, drawing closer to a door. Mulder and Dana’s bedroom. It was as if the force was drawing him in, like a magnetic field he was following, and he didn’t completely understand it, but he would follow it anyway. He went to the door and paused, just outside. Directly adjacent to the door was the crib, close to what seemed to be Dana’s side of the bed. The baby—his sister—was awake, and surprisingly silent. She lay on her back, limbs askew, and she seemed to be looking up at him.

He could hear Mulder and Dana's steady, sleeping breaths, and he felt weird enough standing in their room while they were asleep; he didn't want to wake them up. And so he tried it silently, wanting to know whether or not she could hear: Hey, kid.

She made no physical indications that she heard; she kind of looked like a living potato at the moment. A cute potato, but still a potato. But Jackson felt the push again, like she had no words to respond, but the presence was still there.

He smiled, almost involuntarily. I guess… I'm your brother, he added silently. I'm Jackson.

The baby blinked slowly, like she understood. She had Dana's eyes, a brilliant blue. Jackson didn't know how to feel about that.

I'm sorry, kid, he was thinking before he could stop himself. I'm really sorry. I… I'm going to try to make life easier for you than it was for me, but I can't make any promises. I'm sorry about that.

She kicked her feet absently, up and down in the air. He reached down to touch her little fist, and she grabbed his finger. Stronger than he would've expected. He grinned again, without even thinking about it. He always wanted a little sister.

I've got to go now, he told her silently. I do. But… I'll be back someday. He meant that. He did. He didn't know when or how, but he'd come back. And in the meantime, he added, you're in a pretty good place. They're good people. They… they'll take care of you. He knew that was true, too. Lily's fingers tightened around his. He whispered, unthinking, "They'll take good care of you."

He didn't know if they could hear. He didn't know whether or not he wanted them to.

He touched the back of Lily's hand before slipping his finger out. Night, kid, he thought, and exited the room as quietly as he could manage.

When he stepped into the hall, he heard a long creak, and looked behind him to see the door swinging mostly closed. It could've been the wind, or hinges, or even a ghost, if he was being indulgent. But he suspected that someone else was to blame for it.

He slipped downstairs, keys in hand, ready to bolt for the door. But something made him pause. Pause, in the messy kitchen, and go for a notepad on the kitchen counter. He'd been such a fucking asshole he could hardly believe it; the least he could do was leave a goddamn note. He didn't owe his birth parents much, but he owed them this. Just this. Reassurance that he was okay.

He wrote in a scribbled, messy hand and left the note on the kitchen table before slipping out the door.

Hey,

I had to go. I have things I have to do, and besides, you deserve this time with the kid. I hope you guys have a good time together. She's a sweet kid.

I'm sorry I dropped in like that, and I'm sorry to leave while you're asleep. I'm sorry for everything else, too. I really am. Thanks for all you've done for me.

I'll try to come by soon.

— Jackson

#i am so sorry this took so long #xf fanfic #i wrote this

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